Un Poco Loco
by classicdisneyFTW
Summary: Imelda is wooed by every man who can hold a guitar and she is sick of it. Meanwhile, Santa Cecilia is hosting a music competition and two traveling musicians roll into town. One is charming and everything Imelda could ask for, the other is ridiculous and drives her completely crazy. (Story behind the song "Un Poco Loco").
1. Serenading

_I noticed in the movie, Héctor gets really excited when Miguel mentions singing "Un Poco Loco", saying "now that's a song!" I wondered what the story was behind it. This is what I came up with_.

 _The song that the musician sings at the beginning of this chapter wasn't written until 1966, long after this story takes place, but I couldn't find any decent Hispanic songs to fit the mood. And I'm no songwriter, so I just rolled with it._

* * *

" _Flor se llamaba: flor era ella,_

 _flor de los valles en una palma,_

 _flor de los cielos en una estrella,_

 _flor de mi vida, flor de mi alma..._ "

Imelda leaned against the window frame, watching the poor fool in front of her passionately strum his guitar and howl into the night. She did her best to keep her face pleasant and resisted covering her ears from what was supposed to be singing. Her mother had convinced her to remain polite and not slam the shutters in her suitors' faces.

Once word had spread that she liked musicians, every single man that could even hold an instrument came knocking at her door, hoping to win her heart. Perhaps she should have been more specific; she liked _real_ musicians, the ones who played from the heart, not these fame-seekers or those who only did it to get her attention. That was the problem with musicians; the good ones were all big-headed and sought out fame and fortune, while the humble ones who might actually pay Imelda a bit of attention were no good.

...Like this clod strumming away outside her window. The poor fool had probably barely held a guitar in his life and had been practicing that specific song for days just for this performance. Imelda supposed she should have been impressed at such an effort on her behalf, but after so many similar previous attempts from other suitors, she came to see it more as pathetic.

" _...cuando lloraba, limbo de pena_

 _cuando reía, cielo que salva!"_

He finally finished, down on one knee, his arms outstretched and eyes closed. Imelda was not quite sure what to do at such a sight so she remained frozen, her false smile plastered to her face. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked at her expectantly.

"Ah, Señor Tomas..." Imelda said as pleasantly as possible, nervously tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, "What an... _interesting_ performance."

"You liked it?" he asked hopefully, grinning.

Imelda hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue ached her soul to even think about. She just couldn't lie. "It was different than anything I had ever heard," she finally came up with.

"Oh, _señorita!"_ He leapt to his feet and ran forward, throwing himself at the window. Imelda fell back in surprise, but Señor Tomas caught her hand. "Please, allow me to tell you then how much I am so much in love with you, _mi amor!_ Will you allow me to continue courting you?"

Getting a good look at him now up close, there was more than just his bad singing to repel her from him. He was at least fifteen years older than her- probably not even forty and already going bald; he was short, even shorter than her; he had extremely hairy arms... maybe that was where all the hair on his head went.

"Señor Tomas," Imelda said pulling her hand from his sweaty grip, "I wasn't aware you were courting me in the first place. I thought you were just playing me a song."

"Oh, but, _mi flora bonita_ , you cannot ignore the flame between us. Our chemistry."

Chemistry? Really! She had barely spoken to the man before now.

"I'll tell you what," Imelda said, "If you can write me an original love song, I'll let you court me."

"An original song?" Señor Tomas repeated, flabbergasted, "But, but..."

"You said you were a musician, didn't you? So go make some music!"

And then Imelda slammed the shutters in his face.


	2. Two Travelers

_I feel like I need to apologize in advance: I don't know very much Spanish. I took one year of it in school almost ten years ago. I did grow up in California with a lot of Mexicans, so I know a bit about the culture and language, but that doesn't mean that I know a ton. I tried my best to incorporate it into the story to give it authenticity, but I apologize if there's not enough and/or if it's misused._

* * *

A few miles away from town, there drove a rickety old uncovered wagon driven by an even more rickety and even older man. It rolled along the dirt road at a less than moderate pace. In the back were a few supplies- a barrel of water, a sack of dried meat, some rope, a patched up blanket- and lying next to them were two teenage boys along for the slow and bumpy ride. The lankier of the two had his straw hat pulled over his eyes to block out the blazing sun while he mindlessly strummed on a pearl-white guitar. The other, a brawnier, more masculine-type sat with his legs crossed, fingering a flyer with the words "Musical duo: Ernesto de la Cruz and Héctor Rivera playing tonight" printed on it. Beneath the words was a sketch of two men playing guitars and singing. He frowned at the picture.

"They always make my chin too big."

"Hmm?"

"These posters. They always make my chin too big."

"You're just too picky, Ernesto."

"You can say that because you look normal."

His friend smirked, but didn't respond and continued playing his guitar.

Ernesto leaned back in the wagon and crossed his arms behind his head. "Where to next?"

His friend, Héctor, stopped strumming his guitar for a moment. "Santa Cecilia," he said, then he began playing again.

Ernesto raised a surprised eyebrow. "A lot of potential there?"

"Well, they have a music festival every year with prize money and local fame, that sort of thing."

Ernesto was unimpressed. "That's the best you could find?"

"Famous musicians have come from less," Héctor pointed out, "I've heard that talent scouts often attend these kinds of competitions."

"Will there be any at this one?" Ernesto asked hopefully.

Héctor chuckled. "I don't know. But, it could be good to get in touch with our roots after all this traveling."

Ernesto grunted, not sounding entirely convinced. "It was my goal to get _away_ from my roots."

"But we haven't been to a place like Santa Cecilia since we were _muchachos_."

"For good reason. There's nothing there."

Héctor shrugged. "I don't know about that," he said, "Let's just go and try it out. A little local fame couldn't hurt us right now. Besides, you never know what other surprises we might come across."

Ernesto sighed in defeat. "Fine. You write the songs, I guess you make the decisions."

That got Héctor to stop playing and sit up. He replaced his hat on his head and looked Ernesto straight in the face. "But _we_ sing them," he pointed out firmly.

Ernesto gave a half shrug then grinned his charming grin. "But you know I carry those vocals."

Héctor gave a laugh. "No doubt."

"Alright, my friend. Santa Cecilia it is."


	3. Singing With the Laundry

"Now what was wrong with Señor Tomas?"

Imelda resisted rolling her eyes at her mother as she pulled a wet shirt from the basket. "If you have to ask, I don't think we should be talking about it," she said as she threw the shirt over the clothesline.

"Really, Imelda," her mother reprimanded her, "You have turned away every man who's turned up at your doorstep. You have your choice of anybody and yet you choose nobody. There's always something wrong with them."

"I am not being picky, _mamá_ ," Imelda insisted as she shook out a rolled up set of socks, "I only have two expectations for my future husband: I need him to be sincere and I need him to be devoted. The musician thing is only a dream, but I can tell by looking at all these _idiotas_ that they are neither as sincere nor as devoted as they claim. I actually like that they sing to me because music is so freeing, a person's soul is on display and I can see their true intentions."

Her mother did not seem to understand. "But what about Señor Martín?"

This time, Imelda did roll her eyes. " _¡Mamá!"_ she groaned.

"He seemed very sincere to me."

"By having someone else write his song?" Imelda asked dryly, "I'm sure he meant _every word_ that his friend wrote."

"Fine, fine," her mother replied bending down to pick up more laundry to hang on the clothesline, "But just know that I heard that Don Julián is planning on trying his hand next."

"Don Julián?" Imelda repeated in surprise, "The rich man from outside town?"

" _Sí_ , He's very distinguished. If I were you, I would treat him kindly. He has friends in high places."

"What interest could a man like that have in me?"

"I'm sure he's heard all about you from his friends," her mother replied, as she adjusted some of the clothes already hanging on the line, "It is a small town and he's not completely cut off. I'm sure he has connections."

"Is this becoming a game with all the men now?" Imelda demanded, outraged, "To see which one can win over the stubborn Imelda?"

Her mother shook her head pityingly. "Well, if you would stop toying with them so."

"I am not _toying_ with them!"

"Try to convince them of that. Men love girls who are hard to get. It's all part of the fun."

Imelda scowled. Men were such stupid creatures. Why was she expected to marry one of them? Why couldn't she just make it on her own without depending on one of them? The system was rigged! By men no doubt.

"You finish hanging the clothes," her mother instructed, "I am going to start supper."

With that, she disappeared into the house. Imelda bitterly continued to hang the remaining clothes on the line, mulling over what her mother had just told her. She felt the annoyance rising up in her chest again. _¡Estupido!_ She angrily threw a skirt over the line and it bounced violently from the force. Imelda steadied it. She grumbled and made an attempt to keep her mind off the situation. She began to hum. At first was just a random tune, but as she continued to hang the clothes and force back her feelings, she found the two tasks intertwined into an upbeat and ferocious melody.

Her movements as she hung the clothes became more dramatic as she moved with her hums. Soon she was not humming anymore, but was full on vocalizing. Her voice rang free and echoed through the air like a bell. She knew she had a coarser and deeper voice than a lot of the girls who sang like little birds in the springtime, but it was crystal clear and rich.

She finally picked up the last piece from the basket- a blanket- and with a dramatic flare, she threw it over the line, ending her song on a long and loud final note.

She took a breath, satisfied. Just as she was about to head into the house to help her mother with supper, she turned and came face to face with a young man, probably no more older than she was, standing at the gate. She had never seen him before. He was tall and lanky with dark scruffy hair stuffed under a straw hat. He was staring at her entranced, stroking at a small beard on his chin, a small smile barely visible on his lips.

Startled, embarrassed, and irritated that he had been watching her for who knew how long, she bent down, pulled off her boot and marched toward him in anger, brandishing her shoe towards him like a weapon. "Who are you? What do you want? Why are you here?" she demanded of him.

He immediately recoiled at the sight of her charging towards him. "Please, _señorita!"_ he cried, "I didn't mean to disturb you! I was just passing by!"

She observed the large white guitar strapped to his back. A likely story. She had seen enough musicians stopping at her door with high hopes. "Ha! Passing by?" she laughed, "Who sent you? Did you hear stories at the cantina? Or has my fame spread to other towns by now and you've come to try your luck?"

By now she had thrust her shoe under his chin like a sword. He stood still, eyes wide. "Stories?" he repeated, baffled, " _Señorita_ , I swear-"

She rolled her eyes at him. She did not have time for this nonsense. "Please!" she scoffed, "I see your guitar and you just _happen_ to end up at my house?"

"I am only trying to find my way to the inn!" he protested.

She hit him over the head with her boot at that, knocking his hat to the ground. He yelped in pain and rubbed at the spot. "A likely story!" Imelda stated, "I've seen enough of your type to know when I'm being lied to."

"It's not a lie!" he cried with a mixture of terror, bewilderment, and even a little intrigue, "I really _am_ lost! I was passing by when I heard you singing, so I stopped to listen. I'm sorry if that was wrong of me. I'll never do it again, I promise!"

Imelda glared at him. He looked genuinely confused and out of sorts. He did look the part of a traveler, covered in dirt and wearing old tattered clothing as though he had just barely come into town. He certainly was not well to do. The most impressive part of him was the shiny white guitar on his back. It was the most clean and pristine thing about him. It was as though he put more attention into keeping up its appearance than his own. She noticed that there were small designs and colors painted all around it and that the beginnings of a face had been carved into its handle to resemble a skull. Maybe he really _was_ telling the truth. Slowly, she lowered her boot and he relaxed slightly. Once her shoe was at her side, he also relaxed and then bent down to retrieve his hat. She watched him pick it up, brush it off, and then place it back over his dark, unkempt hair.

"You're lost, you say?" she finally asked after a moment.

" _Sí_ ," he replied, "My partner and I are in town for the music competition. He is at the plaza signing up and I am supposed to find the inn, but I got lost."

Imelda crossed her arms and continued glaring at him. She was not about to drop her resolute attitude for some traveling street performer, but she believed him. She gestured with her head to the road. "If you keep following this road, you'll reach an intersection, take the left one and follow it. The inn is on the righthand side, you can't miss it."

The stranger tipped his hat. " _Gracias, señorita_."

With that, he turned his back and walked back to the road. Imelda watched him go, observing the sun bounce off his white guitar.


	4. Gossip in the Cantina

"So the show is in a week and I got us a slot," Ernesto explained to Héctor as they sat in the town's cantina, waiting for the drinks they had just ordered. Or rather, Ernesto eagerly waited for the drinks he had ordered for both of them while Héctor focused on his guitar. He had been working on a new song for a while now and was almost finished with it. His little red songbook laid open on the table beside him, flipped open to a blank page.

"Good, good," Héctor said, half listening as he tried a different chord.

"You could be a little more excited," Ernesto pointed out, leaning on the table, "This was your idea in the first place."

"Oh, I am excited," Héctor replied, finally looking up at his friend, "I was just thinking about which song we should play. I want it to be a good one."

"We can just play one of the old ones," Ernesto replied, "They've all been hits in everywhere else we've played."

"What if..." Héctor said, glancing at his songbook, "we tried something new?"

Ernesto shrugged carelessly. "Whatever you say. Just as long as you can finish it before the competition."

Héctor put a hand on the songbook and tapped his finger thoughtfully. "Maybe... a love song?"

Ernesto let out a laugh. "A love song?"

"Sure. There are lots of songs about love and I haven't written one yet."

"That's because you haven't been in love," Ernesto pointed out, "What do you know about it?"

Héctor gave a shrug. "I know it's sappy, it makes you sick, it's all you think about, it's the greatest and the worst feeling in the world..."

"Now it sounds like you're just reciting other people's words, Héctor," Ernesto stated, "I thought you wrote songs based on what _you_ felt."

Héctor heaved a sigh. "You're right," he replied, "I guess I'll save the love song for when I experience it myself."

"Ah, do not worry, my friend," Ernesto said, sensing his partner's discouragement, "We are still young, there will be plenty of beautiful women to entice us in the days to come. Especially after we become famous."

Héctor only responded with a small chuckle and then turned his focus back to his guitar. Ernesto watched him for a moment before asking, "So what happened to your face?"

Héctor reached up and touched the large bruise forming on his cheek. "I uh... met a girl," he responded carefully.

Ernesto laughed heartily. "And she hit you? I know you're ugly and all, but not enough to hit you. What did you say to her?"

"Nothing really," Héctor responded, replaying the scene in his mind, "In fact I'm still a little confused by the whole thing. At first I thought she was mad because she thought I was spying on her, but then she started yelling at me for being sent there and about hearing stories about her and coming to try my luck. She said she "knew my type." I'm still not sure what she meant."

"Ah-ha! So you met Imelda?" came a voice from nearby.

Héctor and Ernesto turned to find the owner of the voice that had spoken. They spotted an older man with a small black mustache, an enormous gray sombrero, and a bottle of some sort of unidentified alcohol in his calloused hands.

Without an invitation, he sauntered over to their table and took a seat. He smelled strongly of whisky and tobacco. "Listen," he said, his speech slightly slurred, "That girl is baaaad news," he said, ignoring Héctor and Ernesto's confused looks. "She plays with men's emotions and then tosses them aside."

"What do you mean?" Héctor wondered in spite of himself.

The stranger looked at him with his eyes half open. He slowly looked him up and down. "You're a musician?"

Héctor nodded. The drunken stranger laughed and then coughed after over exerting himself. "That's what you think until you try playing for Imelda."

"Imelda?"

"The girl! She has all these ridiculous expectations for men that are impossible to meet," the man said, "I'm telling you, she will die an old maid."

He took a long drink from his bottle, the liquid dripping down his chin. "Funny, isn't it? The most desired girl in town dying without a husband."

Ernesto who had been bored through most of the man's speech was suddenly intrigued by the words "most desired." He leaned forward. "What makes her so difficult to please?" he inquired.

The man shrugged. "She's just too picky, I think. She likes musicians, but every time one comes to play or sing for her, she turns them away."

"Why?" Ernesto asked, "Are they not good?"

"Something about them not being sincere or whatever."

"Ha!" Ernesto laughed, "Is that all?"

Héctor who also had been intrigued by story, but not for the same reason as Ernesto gave a shrug. "I know what she means," he stated, "Music, _real_ music comes from the heart and when some people play, you can tell when it came from... somewhere else."

"Please, Héctor, this is not the time for your sentimentality," Ernesto said, waving his hand flippantly, "We are trying to figure out the mystery of this woman who cannot be wooed."

Héctor raised an eyebrow in slight annoyance, but did not retort. Instead he said in a hushed voice, "Ernesto, he's drunk. How can we trust what he's even saying. He's probably exaggerating."

For a sloppy drunk, the man had surprisingly good hearing. "Don't believe me, eh?" He turned to the bar. "Diego! What does Imelda do to men?"

A younger man, probably a few years older than Ernesto and Héctor's turned towards them. His long scraggly hair hung over his eyes, but they could still see his bitter scowl through it. "She rips out your heart and does the samba on it."

He stomped his foot to the floor and then raised his hands into the air as though he were about to dance. Then he glared at them again and turned back to his drink. Héctor swallowed hard, unsure what to think, but Ernesto seemed even more intrigued. "Fascinating," he said, rubbing his chin and donning a small smile, "No man can win her."

"Just hold on, _amigo_. She _is_ a tough one to handle," Héctor remarked, reaching up to touch the bruise on his face.

"Or maybe you're just _el afeminado_ ," Ernesto retorted with a laugh.

Héctor frowned, irritated. "Why don't you go see her for yourself then? You're a musician, aren't you?"

Ernesto straightened up at the idea. "Now _that's_ an idea," he said, sticking out his chin and grinning cockily, "She may have met musicians, but she has never met Ernesto de la Cruz."

 _And she won't know what hit her_ , Héctor thought in amusement, turning back to his songbook and guitar.


	5. Ernesto Tries His Luck

Imelda peered around the frame of the door. Her mother had said Don Julián would be stopping by today. She was not sure she would be able to stomach another insincere music performance and especially one from some pompous rich don who secluded himself from the rest of the town. She planned on spending most of her day in the plaza listening to the mariachis while she sewed.

Seeing that the coast was clear, Imelda took a step out into the yard. She glanced back at the house to make sure her mother was not watching, then was about to make a break for the gate when she ran into something very solid.

Horrified that it might be Don Julián, she considered reentering the house. Instead, she looked up at who she had collided with. To her surprise, her eyes met with a pair of very fine brown ones. The owner grabbed her shoulders to steady her. He had a very strong grip which matched his entire large and strong physique, right down to his square jaw and defined cheek bones. He smiled at her, momentarily dazzling Imelda with pearly white teeth. She had never seen anyone quite like this man.

"Sorry, to surprise you," he said in a deep, smooth voice.

"Oh, no, no. I just... wasn't watching where I was going," Imelda said slowly.

The handsome stranger suddenly realized that he was still holding onto her and released her. "I apologize," he said, bowing his head slightly.

Imelda cleared her throat in an effort to regain her dignity. "Can I help you with something?"

"No, no. I was just passing by."

"Through my yard?" Imelda asked suspiciously.

"Yes. I must confess, you have a wonderful garden of flowers and I knew that I could not possibly walk by without inspecting them up close."

"So you trespassed?"

The stranger bowed his head. "I apologize again. If I overstepped my boundaries, you may kick me out, take me to the sheriff, or whatever you desire."

Imelda crossed her arms, but could not bring herself to be as stern as she normally would be. "I suppose since you had good intentions and you look innocent enough, I'll let you go this once."

"Ah, _gracias, señorita_ ," he said, bowing his head again, "You are very generous."

He bent down and plucked one of the Honeysuckles from a nearby bush. "Here, a beautiful flower for a beautiful lady."

Imelda felt like she should be cross with him for picking the flower from her bush especially after she was nice enough to let him go. However, looking at him smiling at her and holding out the flower so readily did something to her that somehow prevented her from glaring at him and telling him off. She took the flower from him. She didn't smile, but simply twirled the flower in her hand.

"I am Ernesto. Ernesto de la Cruz," he introduced himself.

"Imelda," she said, staring at the flower, still surprised at herself.

"It is an honor, _señorita_."

Imelda nodded, continuing to twiddle with the flower. "I have not seen you before? Are you new in town?"

"Oh, my friend and I are just passing through," Ernesto replied.

"Family?" Imelda wondered.

"No..." Ernesto said, "We're here for the music competition your town hosts."

Imelda's eyes shot up. A musician? She was instantly wary. What did he know? He probably knew everything and was here to try his hand at winning her heart like every other man who could hold a guitar.

"And speaking of the competition," Ernesto said with a tip of his hat, "I told my partner I would meet him in the plaza in a half hour, so I really must be going. It was a pleasure, _señorita._ Thank you for not turning me in."

Wait. That was it? Imelda was so thrown by the sight of his retreating figure that she was actually stunned into silence. She had fully expected him to offer to play or sing for her, that she didn't know what to do when he didn't. But, if he was not here to woo her... and he was a musician... Imelda did not want him to just leave.

"Wait!" she called after him.

He stopped and looked back at her, surprised. A little embarrassed, she approached him. "Um... I just..." she was not sure what to say, "I was wondering if you might play me something?"

"Oh, I don't know, SeñoritaImelda," he said, "I need to save my voice for the competition."

"Just something short," Imelda pleaded, "You sound like you might have a nice voice. Please? I'll be very grateful."

Ernesto gave a small, pleased smile. "Well, when a pretty woman makes that kind of a request, how can you refuse?"

He gave a helpless shrug. "I am afraid I didn't bring my guitar."

"That's alright," Imelda said, "I have one you can use if you'd like."

She ran inside, found her father's old guitar under the bed, and then quickly returned. Ernesto looked over the old battered guitar for a moment. "What a... fine guitar," he said in a tight voice.

"It was my father's," Imelda said, biting her lip emotionally, "He used to play all the time."

"Ah, and that makes it even more fine," Ernesto said, nodding. He held the guitar into position.

He paused for a moment, closing his eyes, then he began to strum quickly. The upbeat melody surprised Imelda. Ernesto opened his mouth and then began to sing with a very luscious and deep voice:

" _Señoras y señores, buenas tardes, buenas noches_

 _Buenas tardes, buenas noches, señoras y señores_

 _To be with here with you tonight_

 _Brings me joy que allegria_

 _For this music is my language_

 _And the world es mi familia_

 _For this music is my language_

 _And the world es mi familia_

 _For this music is my language_

 _And the world es mi familia!"_

He finished with a final strum and raised his hand in the air dramatically, grinning. Imelda had been captivated by the performance- his voice was divine and he had flare; plus the lyrics seemed sincere enough- but there was still something lacking.

"Was that one of your songs?" she asked.

"An original, one of a kind," Ernesto replied proudly, puffing out his chest.

Imelda nodded, considering. It was a good song and he performed it well, but he needed a better song to _really_ display his emotions.

"Do you have any love songs?" Imelda wondered.

"Haha! No, my partner and I were just talking about this," Ernesto said, "Neither of us have really been in love so we feel that it wouldn't be sincere."

Imelda nodded, understanding. "You have a very good voice," she told him.

Ernesto puffed out his chest even more. "I've been told that many times, but hearing it from you, _señorita,_ really means something to me."

He took her hand into his and kissed it. Imelda felt her cheeks blush and was instantly horrified at herself. What was she doing? What was going on?

"Please, _señor,_ " she said, pulling her hand away, "What could my words possibly mean to you?"

"The compliment of a beautiful lady means everything to me," he replied, "And especially one who loves music as much as yourself."

"How do you know I love music?" Imelda asked suspiciously.

"Why, your father was a musician, was he not?" Ernesto asked, holding up the old guitar in his hands, "And you asked to hear me play. Not everybody does that unless they genuinely love music."

"Yes, I suppose so," Imelda replied. She sighed. "Well, you have guessed right. I do love music."

Ernesto looked at her curiously. "You sound upset when you say that."

"It's just that... it's a long story."

Ernesto smiled. "I have nowhere to be."

Imelda found herself smiling back. "I don't want to bother you with my troubles."

"I can't imagine you bothering me."

Imelda sighed, relenting. "It all started after my father died last year. My mother decided it was time for me to get married and put out the word that I was ready to take on suitors. Some men came knocking, but I wasn't very impressed with any of them because they were dull and emotionless. When I was asked what I wanted, I said that I wanted a musician because of how open and fun they are. And that's where the trouble _really_ started. Now, every man I meet tries to woo me with music."

"What's so bad about that?" Ernesto asked, "You said you wanted a musician."

"None of them are very good," Imelda stated in annoyance, "And now it's become sort of a competition to see who will win my hand. It's more about winning than it is about actually wanting to marry me. They see me as a prize rather than a person."

Ernesto nodded, understanding. "I can see why you can afford to be picky then when listening to all your suitors."

Imelda frowned. "I don't think I'm being picky when it comes to the music part. I have very reasonable demands."

"And what are those?"

"First, he has to sound good, obviously. He can't be off key or have a terrible voice. And second, he has to sing from the heart."

Ernesto wrinkled his brow. "Now, my partner says that all the time, but I'm a little confused about what exactly that means. I feel like _all_ singing comes from the heart."

"It means you have to really _feel_ and _mean_ what you are singing about," Imelda explained, "You can write all the pretty words and nice melodies you want, but if you don't mean them, then it's not sincere."

Ernesto nodded slowly, trying to process this. Imelda gave a small laugh. "I guess that is where all my suitors are having trouble. They just aren't very sincere in _any_ respect."

Ernesto smiled at her. "SeñoritaImelda," he said, taking her hand again. Imelda was surprised at the gesture, but allowed him to hold her hand. He continued, "Will you allow me... That is, do I have your permission to continue playing for you?"

Imelda raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you asking for permission to try and woo me with music?"

Ernesto looked a little embarrassed, but then he nodded. "I suppose I am," he said, "I only just met you, but from what I have seen, you are a very charming and beautiful woman."

Imelda smiled and fought back the fluttering in her stomach. How ridiculous! She had never felt such a thing before. She squeezed his hand. "I'll tell you what," she said, "I'll give you the challenge I give all my suitors: write me an original love song and I'll let you court me."

"Write you a love song?" Ernesto repeated, sounding almost confused at the words.

" _Sí_ ," Imelda replied with a smile, "Good luck."


	6. Ernesto's Favor

_Merry Christmas, everyone! Thanks for reading this so far! I appreciate all your reviews and feedback._

* * *

"A handcrafted pot to brighten up the home, _señor?"_

"How about a _huipil_ for the wife?"

Héctor shook his head at the vendors as he passed by on his way back to the inn. He had spent most of the day wandering around the town, seeing the sights, and observing the people. He had finally finished his song and decided to spend the rest of the day just walking around.

"Can I interest you in this shawl, _señor?_ I think your wife will like it."

Why did all the vendors use that tactic? "Something for the wife?" He was not even eighteen yet. Sure, some men got married even younger than that, but it wasn't a common practice. Why should they assume _he_ was married? Was it just their default setting for the older customers and they couldn't shut it off for the younger ones?

He wondered how Ernesto was faring. He had gone to see that angry girl Héctor encountered the other day. Héctor had seen Ernesto charm every woman he ever encountered. He could probably talk a beggar out of his last peso if he wanted. However, this girl- What was that her name? Imelda?- was something else. She wasn't quite like those other girls they often encountered on the road who would fall all over themselves just to talk to Ernesto.

Héctor smirked at the idea. He always knew that Ernesto was the more handsome and suave one and Héctor was more than happy to fade into the background when the girls came flocking. However, the thought that this girl just _might_ turn away Ernesto was slightly pleasing to Héctor. Ernesto could use a good lesson in humility every once in a while; a reminder that he couldn't _always_ get what he wanted.

"Héctor!"

Speak of the devil. Héctor turned towards his friend's voice and saw him running towards him, looking slightly frantic. Héctor grew instantly alarmed. Ernesto almost always kept his cool unless it was really serious.

"What is it?" he asked as Ernesto caught up to him, "What's wrong?"

"I need your help," Ernesto pleaded, "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Of course, _amigo_ ," Héctor said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "What do you need?"

Ernesto took a breath. "I need you to write me a song."

Héctor furrowed his brow in confusion. "Wait, what?"

"You remember I went to go see that girl Imelda?"

Héctor nodded. " _Sí._ And how does that lead to me writing you a song?"

"Well, I think I successfully got on her good side, which is more than you managed to do." Ernesto gave a slight chuckle and gestured to the bruise on Héctor's cheek. "I asked if I could court her and she told me I could _if_ I wrote her an original love song."

Héctor shook his head. "Why didn't you just tell her you've never written a song before?"

"Well, ah... I may have led her to believe that the song I sang was my own original piece," Ernesto admitted awkwardly.

Héctor raised an eyebrow at him. "What song did you sing?"

"Um... 'The World Es Mi Familia'."

"You took credit for one of _my_ songs?"

"You've always said they were _our_ songs," Ernesto said defensively, "I've sang it plenty of times, plus I never directly said I wrote it. I just said it was an original piece and she _assumed_ I wrote it."

Héctor rolled his eyes. He was sure that Ernesto did nothing to try and correct her assumption until it was too late. "Let me get this straight, you stole one of my songs to impress a girl and now you want me to write you an entirely original piece so you can continue to impress her?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you really even like her?"

"Of course I do!" Ernesto cried, sounding affronted, "Please, Héctor. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't mean it. She is special. And I could never do her justice writing a song myself. You're the only one who could do it."

Héctor stared at him, his mind reeling. He could charm a beggar out of his last peso alright. "Ay! Fine!" he groaned, "But you owe me."

"Oh, thank you, Héctor!" Ernesto cried, wrapping an arm around Héctor's shoulders, "You are the greatest friend anyone could ask for! You won't regret it."

 _I hope not_ , Héctor thought.


	7. Don Julián

"Imelda!"

Imelda groaned at the sound of her mother's voice. She recognized the tone. It was very fake and sing-songish. There was company over and not the kind that Imelda liked to entertain. Mustering up all her will power to be pleasant, Imelda strode out into the front room.

Sitting at the table across from her mother sat a mustache. Probably somewhere underneath it was a man too, but really all Imelda could focus on was the enormous black mustache. It covered most of the man's face, blending into his sideburns and covering his mouth, and curled into perfect "U"s around his nose. It was shiny and well groomed, and Imelda wouldn't have been surprised if he spent a large portion of his day grooming it.

The man underneath the mustache stood when she entered. "Señorita Imelda," he said in a slow, silky voice, "It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

Imelda was not sure what to say, still staring at his mustache.

"Imelda, you know Don Julián," her mother interrupted her thoughts.

Don Julián? Imelda blinked and looked past the mustache to actually get a good look at the man who was here to woo her. He was certainly different than she had pictured. He was at least younger than she expected, perhaps in his late twenties. He wore all black right down to his shiny leather boots with silver embroidery. His fashion choices spoke more of a ranch hand than a rich don, though he was not covered in dirt and sweat like a ranch hand would be. Other than that, the fancy embroidery on his boots and his cuffs was the only clue to his wealth. It was like a deliberate fashion choice to wear that style of clothing.

"Of course, Don Julián," Imelda said, holding out her hand, "I have heard all about you." This was a lie. She had only heard his name and that he intended to woo her through music. Other than that, she knew basically nothing.

"And I about you," he replied, taking her hand and kissing it. The mustache tickled her skin. He spoke with a very drab, slow, monotone voice. It seemed like it took him twice as long to get a sentence out than a normal person. "I had heard many people describe how beautiful you were, but I really do not think they did you justice."

Imelda resisted rolling her eyes. So many men had used that line on her already and she was almost sick of it. Couldn't they think of some other way to flatter her? She kept all of this to herself and instead responded, "You are too kind."

"I speak the truth," he said dully, "I am sure you have heard it many times before. Your mother has told me that you've had many suitors."

"Well..."

"Believe me when I say you _are_ very beautiful."

Imelda nodded graciously. " _Gracias, señor._ "

"Would you mind if we stepped outside for a moment?"

Imelda looked to her mother, praying that she would protest in some way.

"By all means, you two get better acquainted," her mother said, gesturing to the door.

Imelda held back a sigh and allowed Don Julián to lead her to the door. She should have known better. Her mother was hoping that Imelda would choose him even more so than her previous suitors. Not only was he a way to get Imelda off and married, but he was _rich_ and would benefit their family greatly.

Don Julián lead Imelda towards the flower garden. He bent over and plucked a marigold and then handed it to her. His hand lingered over hers as she took it. "A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady," he said in his same unenthusiastic tone.

Imelda forced a smile, but didn't say anything. She was reminded of her earlier encounter with Ernesto de la Cruz and how much differently she felt with the exact same gesture. Ernesto had flare and feeling, Don Julián... it was almost as exciting as talking to a brick wall.

There was silence between them for a moment, but Imelda was not entirely sure how to break it. Luckily she was spared the trouble when he remarked, "What a beautiful sunset, eh?"

Imelda looked and had to agree with him at the sight of the sky smeared with different oranges, pinks, and purples. She had always thought the sunsets in Santa Cecilia were stunning.

"You know what that sunset reminds me of?"

Before Imelda could respond, he was down on his knees and taking her hands into his. "You," he answered his own question tediously, "Only you are more magnificent."

Imelda was taken aback by his very grand gesture. "What are you doing?"

"Telling you that you are beautiful," he replied as though it were extremely obvious.

"No, I mean what are you doing on the ground?"

"I wanted to look up into your eyes, I wanted to show you that you that you will always be above me."

Imelda did not know what to say. It was a very over-the-top and melodramatic speech, but his dull voice and unenthusiastic delivery definitely warped the mood of the whole thing. It puzzled Imelda greatly.

" _Por favor_ , Imelda," he continued monotonously as though speaking in general were a great burden, "I do not want to push anything on you, but I do wish to continue seeing you. I will admit that before coming here, I was unsure about how I might feel about you and what you might be like, but now I can safely say that you are everything I could ever want and more."

Imelda knew she had to say something, but what? She remembered her mother's expectations and hopes. She thought of her own future and the idea of more and more suitors coming for her worse than Don Julián; even with his boring way of speaking and seeming lack of passion for everything. For a moment, her mind flitted back to Ernesto who had visited earlier. He had been charming and kind and didn't have an outrageous mustache or ear-grating voice. He had made his intentions clear as well, but would he really return? What if he didn't?

"Don Julián, you may call anytime," she finally replied.

" _¡Excellente!_ " he exclaimed, although he did not sound very excited. He got to his feet. "Your mother has already invited me over for supper tomorrow."


	8. An Argument

One hour. One hour until Don Julián arrived for supper. Imelda sighed and watched the sunset. Just last night he had been there with her, watching the sunset. She forced back a shudder at the memory. Now what was she supposed to do tonight? Her mother was practically already picking out her wedding dress. It was pretty much expected that she would end up with Don Julián. The other men who had come to woo her were not quite as important as him. He was a major member of the community, not to mention wealthy. Also, the other suitors had been very insistent, but fleeting with their wooing. Don Julián, on the other hand, seemed quite serious in his statements no matter how bored he sounded when he made them. But was he truly someone Imelda could marry? She tried to picture it. Her and Don Julián together; her on his arm, her running his household, her kissing him... yeesh. It did not seem to come together all that smoothly. Was there really no one else out there for her?

 _"¡Hola!"_

Surprised by the voice, Imelda looked to the gate. Through the dim light, she saw a tall thin figure standing outside of it, but could not make out a face. She squinted, trying to decipher the person. "Who's there?"

"It's me. Remember? The guy you hit with your boot?"

Imelda furrowed her brow, recognizing the scruffy young stranger she had attacked a couple days earlier. He no longer carried his guitar and was now wearing neater clothing, but he still wore the same straw hat, giving him an impish look. He was casually leaning against the gate, wearing a dopey smile. Imelda was baffled as to why such a misfit would be at her doorstep.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I am here on behalf of Ernesto de la Cruz," he responded, pushing open the gate and entering the yard.

"Ernesto? You know him?"

" _Sí._ I'm his partner."

Imelda laughed. "Ernesto would not have such a low life as his partner."

"Low life?" he repeated, affronted as he approached her. She could now see him clearly. He looked half offended, half amused at her comment. "I'll have you know, I am probably the most distinguished musician you'll ever lay your eyes on. And the most handsome too."

He stuck out his bony chest proudly and grinned the most ridiculous grin. Then, he winked at her. Imelda frowned, unamused. He was teasing her and she did not appreciate it.

"What do you want?" she asked flatly.

"I told you, I'm here for Ernesto."

"If you are really his partner, like you claim, why didn't he come himself?" Imelda asked suspiciously.

"He uh... doesn't know I'm here."

Imelda raised an eyebrow, then looked him over for any trace of dishonesty. He was an oddity and she did not like oddities, but she did recall Ernesto mentioning a partner and the two of them did seem to appear around the same time. She would trust him... for now. "What did you say your name was?"

"Héctor," he replied, removing his hat and holding it meekly with both hands, "Héctor Rivera."

"Well, Héctor Rivera, Ernesto did mention that he had a partner," Imelda stated, "So I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

"How generous of you," Héctor replied with a hint of sarcasm.

Imelda scowled at him. "So why are you sneaking over to my home without him knowing?"

"Well, _señorita_ , he told me about the challenge you gave him. You know, writing an original song?"

Imelda crossed her arms. Where was he going with this?

"And, you see, neither of us have ever written a love song before and the idea is a little daunting since neither of us have actually been in love before."

"That's why I gave him the challenge," Imelda stated, "Music needs to come from the heart. When he really feels something for me, the music will come."

Héctor pursed his lips doubtfully. "I don't know if it's that simple."

Imelda crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you would know?"

"I would!" Héctor responded defiantly, "I've written my share of songs."

"Well, if Ernesto really cares for me, the inspiration for his love song will come," Imelda insisted.

"I don't think you understand songwriting."

"I think _you_ just don't understand love."

Héctor crossed his arms. "Maybe not, but I do think that love is not something that is just forced out of someone for a song."

Imelda shook her head in annoyance. "Did you just come here to argue your ideas about love and songwriting with me? Or did you actually have a purpose?"

Héctor narrowed his eyes with equal annoyance. "Now that you mention it," he said squarely, "I came to help Ernesto with his song."

"Help? In what way?" Imelda wondered.

"I came to ask you some questions," Héctor replied, shrugging, "What's your favorite _type_ of music, what are your likes and dislikes? What's your personality like so he can choose which metaphors to work with. Are you a star in the sky, the sun rising, or a flower blooming?" He paused and looked her up and down, pondering. "Personally, I think you're like a trying to hug a cactus, but I suppose Ernesto thinks otherwise."

"Trying to hug a cactus!?" Imelda repeated, outraged, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, if anyone tries to get close to you, they get pricked," Héctor stated simply, "I think you're a little tough to love."

"Me? Tough to love?" Imelda said, with a slight laugh, "I have had more suitors than you can count."

"And how many of those suitors have stuck around?" Héctor asked, eyebrows raised.

For once, Imelda had nothing to say, no snarky remark or anything. Instead, she glowered at the talking stick with hair in front of her and placed her hands on her hips, fury pulsing through her. "You know what your problem is? You think you know everything when you don't."

"And your problem is that you're not impressed by anything," Héctor shot back, his voice cool and collected, but still full of passion, "You think everyone has an agenda."

"I do not!"

"You do! Think about when you first met me, you hit me with a shoe! And I was just passing by then. And just now, you didn't believe I was Ernesto's partner. What reason did you have not to believe me?"

Imelda stared at him in shock. This was the first man to ever argue _back_. The other men usually just sputtered and backed off. But, her surprise wore off almost as quickly as it came and her anger rose up again. What right did this stranger have to tell her what she thought and what she did?

She inhaled deeply, straightening up so that she appeared taller, though she was still not as tall as Héctor. "Look here," she said sharply, "I don't need the opinion of some no account, unimpressive musician!"

Héctor's face remained stoic as he frowned at her, but she could tell that her words had struck a chord. "Unimpressive?" he repeated, stepping closer to her until he was right in her face, "You think I'm unimpressive? You just wait, I'll... _Ernesto_ will have a song like you've never heard before!"

With that, he stuffed his straw hat over his scruffy hair, turned on his heel, and stomped out of the yard, slamming the gate behind him.

Imelda stood in stunned silence staring at the gate where he had disappeared for what seemed like eternity. What had just happened? She had never argued with someone like that before. No one had dared challenge her. Who was this Héctor that he would even consider standing up to her? Not acting as the gentleman or the coward, but actually letting his emotions ride free?

"Imelda!" her mother called from inside, "Come inside now. We have to get ready for Don Julián's arrival."


	9. An Invitation

"Well, I think that went extremely well," Imelda's mother stated.

Imelda was not sure is she could agree or not. Sure, Don Julián had been the picture of gentlemanly behavior and had showered her with compliments all night... and actually seemed to _mean_ what he said. However, still, there just seemed to be something lacking; that spark, that fire. He lacked passion. He was far too dull. The most exciting part about him was that fantastic mustache on his face.

"Don't you think it went well, Imelda?" her mother asked.

"Oh! Oh, _sí_ ," Imelda replied quickly.

"What's wrong?" he mother asked, sensing the trouble in her daughter's voice.

"Nothing. Don Julián is very nice," Imelda insisted.

"But?"

Imelda heaved a sigh. "Mamá, don't you think he's just a little... I don't know, boring?"

"Boring?" her mother laughed, "Imelda, he owns half the town."

"I know that, but think about everything he was saying tonight," Imelda said, "All he could talk about was me and the cooking."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Well, if I am to marry him, shouldn't I know something about _him_ other than the fact that he is rich?"

Her mother rolled her eyes. "You always find a fault in everything, don't you?"

Imelda frowned, remembering what Héctor had said to her earlier that night, ' _your problem is that you're not impressed by anything_.' "It's not that I was looking to criticize him," Imelda stated, "I just wanted to know more about him, that's all."

 _Plus he gave very passionate speeches without any passion at all,_ she thought. But she kept that to herself.

"Well, you may have to deal with that yourself," her mother replied, "Ever since Don Julián made his intentions clear, no one else has come forward as a potential suitor. He may be your last option."

"That's not true," Imelda said, without thinking, "I was approached yesterday."

"Really? By whom?" her mother inquired with a mix of curiosity and hostility.

Imelda instantly wished she had not mentioned it, but could not back out now. She boldly continued, "He's a stranger in town, a musician come to participate in the music competition next week."

"A traveling musician?" her mother asked, sounding unimpressed, "Why have I not met him yet?"

"I only just met him yesterday," Imelda stated, "But he made his intentions clear."

"Hmm," her mother replied flatly, "And you... like him?"

"Well I... I don't know," Imelda replied, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.

"You do. I can see it in you face," her mother said, gesturing to her.

"I only just met Don Julián too," Imelda pointed out.

"And you've practically made up your mind that you do _not_ like him."

"Maybe if I could just get to know him..."

"Who is this traveling musician?" her mother cut in.

Imelda twiddled with her thumbs. "His name is Ernesto de la Cruz."

"Hmm, _sounds_ like a musician," her mother said with a scoff, "Is he at least good?"

Imelda couldn't hold back a smile before replying. " _Sí_."

Her mother sighed, relenting. "Then, I suppose I'll have to meet him. Next time you see him, invite him to supper."

* * *

"I don't know what you see in her, Ernesto. She is rude and brash and extremely unpleasant to be around."

Héctor and Ernesto were sitting outside the cantina, watching people pass. Héctor was attempting to tune his guitar, but was so focused on complaining about Imelda that he just couldn't get the right sound.

"I know, isn't she divine?" Ernesto said with a laugh.

Héctor shook his head. He would never understand his friend. He usually went for the girls that were falling at his feet, begging to be taken. He always chose the most beautiful of the lot and, as he put it, "showed her a hell of a time." Then, the next day, he couldn't remember her name or even point her out in a crowd. But, they would shortly be gone and he wouldn't have to worry about it anyway.

So what was going on now with this girl? Héctor could not figure it out. Maybe he enjoyed the challenge of it? But that didn't seem right. Ernesto usually hated having to work for anything. Héctor did most of the heavy lifting in their relationship. The thought did pass through Héctor's mind that maybe, just maybe, he really _did_ fall for Imelda. It seemed like the only explanation, but it seemed too fantastic. Thus, he considered the idea that maybe he was just bored. But Héctor shoved that thought aside as quickly as it came. He could not think of his friend in that manner. Would he really play with someone's heart like that? Surely not!

"Whatever, you say," Héctor told him, trying once again to play his guitar. It still did not sound right. He tried loosening one of the strings again. Why could he not get this? He had done this hundreds of times.

"It's the D string. It needs to be tightened a little more."

Héctor was surprised by the voice and looked up to see none other than the woman herself, Imelda. She stood with her hands on her hips, watching them. Ernesto stood up instantly at the sight of her, but Héctor frowned and looked back at his guitar.

"I don't think it's the D string," he said.

"It is," she insisted.

"No, the A string needs to be loosened a little more and then both the E strings need more tightening. Then I think I've got it."

Imelda let out a dramatic sigh. "You're making it way more complicated than it has to be. Just tighten the D string, you stubborn _burro!"_

Héctor raised an eyebrow at the insult, then he heaved a great sigh that sounded more like a groan. "Ay! Fine!" he said, and he tightened the D string.

When he strummed the guitar after that, it was perfectly in tune. Imelda smiled proudly and Héctor looked at her in surprise.

Ernesto let out a laugh. "See? I told you she was amazing."

Héctor made no reply, but instead looked back at his guitar and began casually strumming it in annoyance. Ernesto moved towards Imelda, grinning. "What are you doing here, _mi flora bonita?"_

He took her hand and kissed it. Héctor saw her blush. He should not have been surprised since he had seen so many girls blush and even giggle when Ernesto did that, but somehow he expected more from this girl.

"My mother wants to meet you," Imelda told him plainly.

"Your mother?" Ernesto repeated, sounding surprised.

" _Sí_. Would you like to come over for supper tomorrow night?"

For a moment, Ernesto said nothing. Héctor could imagine his friend's astonishment. Welcome to a real courtship, Ernesto. Meeting the family and everything. Héctor wanted to laugh.

" _Sí_ , of course I will," Ernesto finally said, "But may I bring Héctor?"

" _Héctor!?"_ both Héctor and Imelda repeated, shocked.

"We may need a chaperone other than your mother. Besides... the poor fellow has nothing to do without me."

"That's not−" Héctor began to protest, but was silenced by Ernesto stepping on his foot.

Imelda narrowed her eyes at Héctor and he could tell that she did not like the idea. However, Ernesto's eyes were pleading and Héctor knew that no woman could resist those. She shook her head in defeat. "I will ask my mother, but I am sure it will be alright," she said.

" _¡Que bueno!"_ Ernesto exclaimed, "We will see you tomorrow night!"


	10. Dinner With Imelda

Héctor fussed with his collar. It had been a while since he had dressed so neatly. He glared at his friend by his side who looked perfectly pristine as usual; his hair superlatively quaffed, his clothes unwrinkled, his teeth shiny and white.

"I still don't know why you need me to come along," Héctor protested.

Ernesto ran a hand over his shiny hair. "I could never do this alone," he stated, "You heard Imelda, how could I say no to her?"

"Did you _want_ to say no?" Héctor wondered.

"Well, I don't know. Not exactly," Ernesto said, "I mean, I want to keep seeing her, but... her mother? Since when was that part of the deal?"

Héctor shook his head in disbelief. "Usually courting a girl comes with a family," he pointed out, "It's kind of a package deal."

Ernesto sighed heavily. Héctor noticed him fidgeting with his tie. He was nervous. Héctor rarely ever saw him nervous; he was one of the most confident men he knew. Héctor raised an eyebrow at him. "Have you really never done this before?"

"No!" Ernesto practically snapped at him, "That's why I need you. You're much better with this domestic stuff."

Héctor held up his hands in defeat. "Alright, I understand. I'll be there to support, but I won't interfere."

"Distract the mother?" Ernesto asked hopefully.

Héctor smirked. "Yes, I'll distract the mother."

"You are the best, Héctor!"

They made it to the house in good time, just before sundown; In fact, they were a little early. Héctor allowed Ernesto to stand in front of him and knock. It was Imelda who answered the door. She wore a bright yellow dress with long ruffled sleeves and white lace around the collar which contrasted nicely with her dark skin. She smiled warmly at Ernesto.

"Ernesto, you are early," she said jovially, "Please come in."

She glanced at Héctor and her smile vanished. She gave him a slight nod. "Héctor," she greeted him flatly.

" _Holá_ , Imelda. It's nice to see you again," Héctor said as pleasantly as possible.

She did not respond and instead turned her attention back to Ernesto as they entered. Ernesto was so preoccupied with her, that he began to move into the house without removing his coat or boots. Héctor noticed the faux pas, grabbed his friend's shoulder, and quickly asked Imelda, "Where should we put our things?"

"Things?" Imelda asked.

"Our coats," Héctor said, gesturing to the tan jacket around his shoulders, "Our shoes."

"Oh, of course," Imelda replied as though she herself had forgotten. She turned to Ernesto, "You can put your jacket and boots here in the closet."

Ernesto and Héctor removed their coats and their boots and looked towards Imelda who had opened a door near the front door. Ernesto moved forward with his things, Héctor in tow. Imelda looked at Héctor, eyebrow raised. "You? You can put yours on your head for all I care."

Héctor squinted his eyes at her in irritation as she helped Ernesto put his things in the closet. He followed her into the next room without even glancing back at Héctor.

Héctor looked at his things in his arms, thinking. What was her deal? He didn't want to be here any more than she wanted him, but at least he was making an attempt to be civil. Well, if she wasn't going to try to be courteous, then why should he exert himself? He folded his jacket and put it on his head, then he placed his boots on top of it. She told him to put them there, so that's what he was going to do. He followed the couple into the next room, balancing his things on top of his head the entire way.

When he entered, at first, no one paid him any attention. Imelda and Ernesto were already sitting at the table, talking; at least, Ernesto was talking and Imelda listened intently, her chin propped delicately upon her fists, enthralled with whatever Ernesto was boasting about. Imelda's mother was nowhere in sight. Héctor figured she must have been in the kitchen preparing food; they _were_ early after all. Héctor carefully moved further into the room, still balancing his things on top of his head, and took a seat beside Ernesto. Finally they noticed him.

They both stared at him, but Imelda was the first to react. "What in the world are you doing?" she demanded.

"What?" Héctor asked innocently.

"'What?'" Imelda imitated him in a scornful voice, "You know exactly what I am talking about."

"I don't think there's anything wrong here, _señorita_ ," Héctor replied simply, "You're the one who told me to put my shoes on my head."

Imelda scowled at him. Ernesto could sense the tension rising and quickly said, "Very funny, Héctor. Haha!" He turned to Imelda. "He's such a clown, right?"

But Imelda didn't laugh. Héctor smiled at her, pleased with himself. "Do you ever laugh?"

Imelda frowned harder at him. "Of course I laugh! I laugh all the time. I just don't find anything you do very funny."

"That's strange because my mother tells me I'm hilarious."

Still, Imelda did not laugh. Héctor shrugged, keeping his head steady so that his things did not fall. "It was worth a shot," he said. Then he smiled again as a thought occurred to him. "I know! Instead of having your suitors write you a song, you should challenge them to get you to laugh."

Imelda stood up in a fury. "Take those things off your head!" she cried out angrily.

Héctor raised his eyebrows, surprised by her outburst and meekly complied. She snatched them from his hands and huffed. "How about you and I keep our conversations limited to _"holá"_ and _"adios"?"_

"But what if I have a question?" Héctor wondered.

"Keep it to yourself," Imelda replied, sticking her nose in the air.

"But what if it's really, _really_ important and the lives of people depend on me asking you a question?"

Imelda rolled her eyes. " _¡Ay!_ Whatever! You can ask me a question _only_ then!"

"Or what if someone is hurt and I need to tell you about it?"

"You can tell me," Imelda grumbled, her breathing increasing in anger.

"Or what if the well runs dry and you need to go to the next town to get fresh water? Or what if there's a troop of bandits heading for your home? Or what if−?"

Imelda's face was bright red from annoyance. " _¡Ay! Silencio!"_

She hurled one of Héctor's own boots at him. He ducked and it hit Ernesto in the gut instead. He cried out in pain and Imelda looked instantly regretful. She dropped Héctor's things to the ground and rushed over to Ernesto who was keeled over in pain.

"Oh no, I am so sorry!" Imelda told him.

Ernesto could not speak and attempted to gesture something in vain. Imelda helped him sit in a chair. Héctor merely watched in astonishment. Once Ernesto was settled and wheezing in the chair, Imelda rounded on Héctor, "See what you did!?"

"Me? You're the one who threw the shoe!" Héctor pointed out.

"Well, you made me do it with your incessant talking!" Imelda cried, "Do you ever shut up?"

"Not really, no. Ask anybody."

Imelda bent down, unlaced her boot and then thrust it under Héctor's chin. "I am warning you, just _try_ and push me a little more," she said venomously.

Héctor stiffened, remembering the last time she hit him across the face. However, he could not help himself from commenting, "Haven't you hit enough people with shoes tonight?"

Imelda stepped closer to him, keeping the shoe under his chin, her face scrunched up with fury. She had to stand on her tiptoes, but she stuck her nose right into his face until he could feel her breathing on his cheek. "One more word, Héctor Rivera," she hissed, "I dare you."

They stood like that for what seemed like an eternity. Héctor could still hear Ernesto wheezing in the corner, but all he could focus on was the girl in front of him. He could see every detail in her face. He never noticed before, but she had a freckle right under her nose.

"Okay, Imelda. Supper is finally ready. Now where is this Ernesto?"

Héctor turned to look for the owner of the new voice and saw a short, plump, older woman emerge from another room, wearing an apron and holding a platter of food. Imelda's mother no doubt. She froze when she saw the scene before her; Imelda brandishing her shoe on Héctor, Ernesto gasping for air in the corner, Héctor's things in disarray in the middle of the floor.

"What is going on?" she asked Imelda, worry and confusion evident in her voice.

Imelda stepped back from Héctor and lowered her boot. "Nothing, _mamá_ ," she said, "Just a... misunderstanding."

Her mother obviously did not believe her, but did not pursue the matter. She set the platter she was holding on the table and then removed her apron. She turned to Héctor. "Are you Ernesto?" she asked cautiously.

Imelda let out a laugh. "Him? No. That's just Héctor, Ernesto is his friend... for whatever reason."

Héctor ignored the jab. He instead bowed his head. "Thank you for having us over, _señora_. You have a lovely home."

"You're very welcome," Imelda's mother replied, smiling at him. She then turned to Ernesto who had finally recovered from having the wind knocked out of him. "So _you_ must be Ernesto."

" _Sí, señora_ ," Ernesto replied, "And may I say, thank you for having us over. You have a lovely home."

Héctor raised an eyebrow. Was there an echo in here?

"Please sit," Imelda's mother said, gesturing to the table.

Héctor and Ernesto did so. Imelda picked up Héctor's things and put them into the closet with Ernesto's. She went and helped her mother bring the rest of the food in before sitting at the table as well.

Imelda's mother leaned forward and addressed Ernesto. "So, please, tell us about yourself."


	11. Playing in the Plaza

"How is the song coming?"

Héctor did not look up from his guitar as Ernesto approached. He had come to the plaza to escape him, yet somehow the man still tracked him down. Héctor continued to play his melancholy tune. Whatever he felt translated into his strumming. Today he was feeling a little irritated and depressed, so that's what his music sounded like. Sometimes the strumming turned into an actual song if the mood persisted, but for now, he was just playing random chords.

Ernesto sat beside him. "That doesn't sound like a love song," he remarked.

Héctor still didn't reply or even look at him.

Ernesto leaned forward in an effort to make eye contact. "Are you still angry with me?"

Héctor remained silent and continued to play, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed on his fingers as they moved over the strings. Ernesto leaned back on his hands. "I'll take that as a yes?"

Héctor continued to play without missing a beat.

Ernesto sighed. "It could have been worse," he said, "She could have hit _you_ with the shoe."

Héctor tried an A minor chord.

"And her mother loved you," Ernesto pointed out, "I think she liked you better than me."

Maybe a B flat?

"And you have to admit, Imelda is extremely beautiful when she's angry. Her cheeks get all flushed and her nose crinkles."

Héctor plucked at each individual string in an even little tempo.

"She's got real fire. It's fascinating. I've never met a woman with so much passion. I wonder if I could direct it towards me."

Héctor's strums became quicker and more angry.

"Overall, I think the night went well," Ernesto stated, "Sure, the beginning was a little rough, but I think you're beating yourself up over it too much. It wasn't _so_ bad."

This was too much for Héctor. He finally stopped playing and faced Ernesto. "Not so bad? Ernesto, while you were yammering on about our music tour− if you can even call it that− did you happen notice that Imelda wasn't even paying attention?"

Ernesto laughed. "Not possible! I am a very compelling storyteller."

"It's true. She was staring at _me_ the entire time. Well, more like she was glaring, but still. She was not paying any attention to you and was more focused on making _me_ uncomfortable."

Ernesto scrunched up his face, trying to remember. "No... surely you must be wrong."

"And then her mother barely spoke to you at all," Héctor pointed out, "Don't you think that is a kind of a bad sign?"

"I gave you the task of distracting her, didn't I?" Ernesto replied, "And you did. I didn't want her in the way."

Héctor shook his head in despair. "Ernesto, let me lay it out for you: You dragged me to one of the most awkward suppers of my life with a girl who is more interested in ticking me off than pursuing something with you... or possibly any other man."

"That's not true," Ernesto said, standing up, "Imelda has always loved my attention."

"And so has every other girl you've talked to," Héctor responded, frowning, "I just think that this one is different from all the other floozies you normally flirt with."

Ernesto's face hardened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Héctor turned back to his guitar, his frown deepening into a scowl. "I mean, she deserves better than getting her heart broken over someone who might lose interest within a week."

Ernesto straightened up in a huff. He pointed a finger at Héctor and opened his mouth, about to say something. However, he instead turned his back on him and stomped back towards the inn, nose in the air.

Héctor shook his head, annoyance rising in his chest once more. What was wrong with him? He hardly ever snapped, especially not at Ernesto. He had not meant to say those things. It was just that he had felt so tense lately. Why? He could not pinpoint the source.

He began playing his guitar again, his confusion and annoyance very clear in his strums.

As he continued to play, some children came running into the plaza with a ball. Héctor watched them throw and bounce it back and forth, laughing all the while. Héctor had flashbacks to when he and Ernesto were children. They would always play in the streets like these children, sometimes with a ball, sometimes they would find some sticks and pretend to fence, sometimes they raced. Once, he remembered trying to build a fort out of old pieces of scrap they found laying in the street. It ended up collapsing, but it had been fun trying to construct it. They also spent a lot of time bothering Old Man Mateo. They would throw pebbles at his door until he opened it up to see who it was, then they ran away before he saw them. There was one time in particular when he actually did see them and he chased them all the way down the road, yelling at them. Héctor and Ernesto had not been so terrified in their whole lives until they saw a crotchety old man without any teeth barreling after them like a bull, ready to beat them with a broom.

Before Héctor knew it, his music had turned a little more light-hearted and bouncy at the memory. He stopped for a moment, pleased with himself. At least he was not feeling as somber as before. He continued with the quirky little melody and turned his attention to the playing children, trying to recall more memories of him and Ernesto as children.

Then, there was one time they were racing outside town and Ernesto stopped suddenly because of a passing cart and Héctor ended up running right into him. Héctor lost a tooth that day. It had been his first tooth. The pain ended up not bothering him because he had been so proud to lose a tooth before Ernesto.

"You play so well, _señor_."

Héctor's memories were interrupted by one of the children who was suddenly standing right in front of him. He was probably not even ten years old; he was short and scrawny, with big endearing eyes, and a crooked smile. He reminded Héctor of himself at that age.

" _Gracias_ , _chamaco_ ," Héctor replied, smiling back, "I try."

Another kid, a little girl about the same age, approached from behind. "Could you play us a dancing song, _señor?"_ she asked hopefully, bouncing on her toes.

"A dancing song?" Héctor repeated, raising his eyebrows.

" _Sí!"_ the other children cried enthusiastically, approaching.

Héctor smiled at each of them. How could he deny such an eager audience? "Alright, I'll play for you. But I'll tell you a secret..." He leaned forward and the children scooted closer, eyes wide with anticipation. Héctor held up his guitar so that they could see it better. "This guitar is no ordinary guitar," he said, "It's special."

"Special?" one of the children asked.

" _Sí_ ," Héctor replied, "You see, it only plays whatever you're feeling. So if you're feeling happy..."

He quickly played a quick, upbeat melody.

"...Or sad..."

He played a slow, melancholy tune.

"...Or angry..."

He played an fast and furious tempo.

"The guitar knows," Héctor said, patting it.

"But it's you playing it," one of the children pointed out.

"Ah, but I must obey the guitar," Héctor explained, "We're both connected."

"Like a magic guitar?" a little girl asked in awe.

Héctor chuckled. "Sort of," he replied. He held up the guitar again. "So as long as you are happy and having fun, the guitar will too." He winked at the children. "Can you do that?"

 _"¡Sí!"_ they all called out happily.

 _"¡Bueno!"_ Héctor shouted and he began to play.


	12. A Breakthrough

_The poem/song used here is called "Hijos del sol y del viento" by Mohammed Ebnu. I tweaked it slightly so that it seemed a little more like a song._

* * *

Imelda hummed to herself as she walked. She tried to keep her mind off the uncomfortable supper the night before and instead focused on the song in her heart. However, try as she might, the music that escaped her lips betrayed her. She tried making it upbeat and cheerful, but after a minute or two, it turned sour and angry. What was wrong with her? Why was she letting this upset her so much? She had always had a temper, but lately it had been flaring up more than usual and getting out of control.

After Ernesto and his friend had left, she had not realized just how much tension had actually been in the room until they were gone and she felt the suffocating pressure lift from her shoulders. She couldn't figure it out. Was she really _that_ attracted to Ernesto that the presence of his strange friend should have bothered her so much? And why _did_ he bother her so much? He had never done anything particularly wrong. He was just... _different_ from every other man she had ever met. And it was insufferable! She hated that she couldn't figure him out right away. She had spent the entire meal staring at him, trying to get a read on him without much luck.

Not like Ernesto. He was easy to read. He was handsome and charming. He said what he thought. He was perhaps a little big-headed, that much was clear, but he was very passionate and seemed to genuinely like Imelda. He wasn't a ridiculous nincompoop who cracked lame jokes like Héctor. No, Héctor was... he was...

He was just being himself.

Imelda started at this revelation. That was it! Ernesto was making an effort to be impressive, Héctor was not. Imelda sighed and mentally slapped herself across the head. What was wrong with her? That was exactly what she was always complaining about. She hated men who put on a face for her and tried to impress her with falsities and insincere compliments. But then, here was Ernesto doing just that and she fell for it! Héctor wasn't doing anything of the sort and she got angry with him for it.

She sighed again, stopping her humming. She probably should apologize to him. Ugh, just the thought of doing so made her toes curl, but she knew she had to.

She was just passing the plaza when she heard music emerging from within. It was more upbeat and playful that the usual hum-drumming she usually heard. She wondered what was going on. She decided to head in that direction to look in. Perhaps one of the musicians for the upcoming music competition was practicing or something.

To her surprise, she found several children jovially dancing around in the square, twirling and clapping to the beat of the music. Up on the stage stood none other than Héctor himself, happily playing his pearl white guitar and tapping his foot to the beat. He sang a quirky little tune to go along with the melody he played:

" _Aún vivimos en las esquinas_

 _de la nada_

 _entre el norte y el sur de las estaciones._

 _Seguimos durmiendo_

 _abrazando almohadas de piedra_

 _como nuestros padres._

 _Padres._

 _Perseguimos las mismas nubes_

 _y reposamos bajo la sombra de las acacias desnudas._

 _Nos bebemos el té a sorbos de fuego_

 _caminamos descalzos para no espantar el silencio._

 _Y a lo lejos_

 _Y a lo lejos_

 _en las laderas del espejismo_

 _todavía miramos, como cada tarde_

 _las puestas de sol en el mar._

 _Y la misma mujer que se detiene_

 _sobre las atalayas del crepúsculo_

 _en el centro del mapa nos saluda._

 _Nos saluda y se pierde_

 _Nos saluda y se pierde_

 _en los ojos de un niño que sonríe_

 _desde el regazo de la eternidad._

 _Eternidad_

 _Aún esperamos la aurora siguiente_

 _para volver a comenzar._

 _Hijos del sol y del viento!"_

Héctor finished the song with a final dramatic run on the strings. The children all applauded and crowded around him, calling for another. They bounced up and down in excitement, laughing. Imelda had never seen such joy in these children before.

"Oh, please _señor!_ Just one more?" one of the children pleaded.

Héctor gave a laugh. "Aren't you all tired yet? You've been dancing for almost two hours."

"No!" they all cried in unison gleefully.

"I guess I'm just getting old then," Héctor stated. He hunched over and scrunched up his face. "Oh, my little _niños_ ," he said in a raspy voice, "Your poor Héctor is getting too old and tired to play his guitar for you anymore." He looked around with squinted eyes. "Has anyone seen my glasses? I'm afraid I'll be joining our ancestors soon in the Land of the Dead, I'm so old!"

The children laughed.

"Please, Señor Héctor," a boy said, stepping forward, "Just one more?"

Héctor smiled warmly at him and ruffled the boy's hair. "Alright, _muchacho_. But this is the _last_ one."

The children cheered and ran back to their positions for more dancing. Imelda couldn't help smiling herself at the sight. Héctor began to play again, this time something a little slower and with an even tempo. He also did not sing and allowed the children to sway to the music as they pleased.

Imelda took this opportunity to approach him. "You don't look like you'll be joining the Land of the Dead _that_ soon," she remarked.

Her sudden presence startled him and he missed a note in his song. However, he quickly recovered and continued to play. He stared ahead at the dancing children. "To a ten-year-old, seventeen is all grown up. It's practically halfway to death," he stated.

"I guess it is," Imelda replied.

They were silent again as Héctor continued to play. Imelda listened to his song, unsure what to do. She finally said, "You know, I just realized I've never actually heard you play until now."

He did not respond. She added, "You're very good."

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her, a smile playing on his lips. "Was that a compliment?"

Imelda felt her cheeks flushing. "Well, I... your voice is not as deep and rich as a lot that I've heard, but it's not the _worst_ ever."

Héctor chuckled. "You know, you were so close there for a minute to being nice."

"I _am_ nice!" Imelda insisted.

"Oh really?" Héctor said, smirking.

"Yes!"

"Then go on, compliment me without taking it back or twisting it," Héctor challenged her with a sly grin.

Imelda frowned at him. "There's nothing to compliment."

"See? You're being mean again."

Imelda groaned in annoyance. Annoyance with him for pointing out a flaw, annoyance with herself for having that flaw, and annoyance with him again for being right.

"Go on," he said, "Just something small. It'll be good practice for you."

Imelda scrunched up her face, looking for something to compliment. She already acknowledged his musical ability, which she was surprised at how good he actually was. When she first met him, she just assumed he was a hack. However, he was actually very smooth and seemed to really know what he was doing with his guitar. Plus, he did have a very pleasant voice. Like she had said, it wasn't as strong and rich as some other voices she had heard, but it was still sweet and pleasing. It was the kind of voice you'd want to hear sing a lullaby or a gentle love song; not that the upbeat song he had been singing before was not very impressive because it was.

No, she would not go for the music again. She was far too critical and analytical on that angle. She'd probably end up twisting it again. So what else?

She observed him grinning at her as he continued to play his guitar. She noticed that his smile was slightly crooked. She had never noticed that before. She had always been too busy yelling at him to really observe the smaller details about him. Come to think of it, the smile suited him; quirky, unusual.

She decided to use that: "You have a nice smile," she said finally.

"Ah, _mi muy guapo_ , eh?" he said, winking at her.

Imelda's face heated up. "I didn't say that!"

"Go on, Imelda. Just admit that I am easily the most handsome man you have ever met," he said, grinning.

"I will admit nothing of the kind!"

"So you say there is something to admit, you're just keeping it to yourself?"

Imelda scowled at him. "You are intolerable!"

" _Gracias_ ," he replied with another cheeky grin.

Imelda was ready to walk away in a huff, but then remembered why she had approached him in the first place. "Look," she said, putting her hands on her hips, "I did actually come here to talk to you."

" _Me?"_ Héctor said with exaggerated astonishment, "What for?"

Imelda sighed. Why did he have to make this difficult? "I realized that I may have... _overreacted_ last night. And maybe all the other times we met."

Héctor looked at her, this time genuinely surprised. "Really?"

Imelda sighed again. "I realized that− at least most of the time− you weren't _trying_ to be annoying. You were just being yourself. And I'm always telling my mother that I wished men would just be themselves around me. You're the first man who has done that in a long time... and I threw a shoe at you for it."

"You also hit me with one," Héctor reminded her.

Imelda smiled at that. " _Sí_ ," she replied, "This is what I mean. I have been very harsh on you and I... I'm... I'm sss..."

Héctor looked at her expectantly, eyebrows raised. Imelda took a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell you that I am..." she scrunched up her face and finally said, "...sorry."

Héctor gave a half smile. "Accepted."

He finished the song. They both heard the children give a very audible "aaww!" of disappointment. Héctor laughed. "Go on! Go home," he said, waving an arm at them, "Your _mamás_ will be missing you. Don't worry, I'll still be around tomorrow."

The children begrudgingly consented and began to disappear from the plaza. Imelda tilted her head, smiling as she watched them. "You are kind to play for them."

Héctor shrugged. "Eh, I love kids," he said simply, "There's something about them, you know? There's no pretenses or falsities. They say what they mean and what they want straight up. They're just so innocent and happy. You want to keep them that way... but you can't. In the end, we all grow up and face the world."

Imelda stared at him, puzzled. "I know what you mean," she said softly. She sat next to him and rested her chin in her hands. "Life was simpler before we had all these responsibilities and expectations."

"Not that we can't handle it," Héctor said.

"Of course not," Imelda agreed.

"It's just that−"

"Sometimes..."

"I wish that..."

"It would be nice if..."

"We didn't always _have_ to handle it," they both said at the same time.

They looked at each other, surprised. Never in her life, would Imelda have imagined to have made a connection with Héctor Rivera. And yet, here she was. He seemed equally amazed. Both their eyes softened as they stared at each other, as if they were both thinking, "maybe this person is not who I thought they were."

Imelda felt her face heating up again under his gaze. She quickly stood up. "I have to be heading home," she said, "My mother will be wondering where I am. And Don Julián is supposed to be stopping by."

"Don Julián?" Héctor asked.

"Another suitor," Imelda explained, "A rich man who lives outside town. He's already been by a couple times."

Héctor smirked. "I can tell by your tone that he is a real winner."

Imelda scoffed. "He's not _so_ bad, he's just a little..." She trailed off, gesturing hopelessly with her hand. She couldn't think of the right word to describe him without giving away her true feelings.

Héctor nodded, seeming to understand. Then he gave a mischievous smile. "Has he sung for you yet?"

Imelda raised an eyebrow at his teasing, but actually saw the amusement in his joke this time. It was kind of ridiculous how many men came to sing for her; funny even. "No, not yet, but I think that might be what he is planning to do tonight."

Héctor leaned back and put his guitar aside. "You'll have to tell me all about it. I have to know what kind of competition Ernesto has going for him."

Imelda gave him a smile. An actual genuine smile; not forced, no laughing, no anger; no sarcasm. "Sure," she said.


	13. The Hacienda

_Happy New Year, everyone! Thank you so much for reading this story so far! I'm glad you're enjoying it :)_

* * *

Imelda sat on the bench in the garden, her hands folded in her lap. Unexpectedly, Don Julián had invited her to his hacienda for the evening, which her mother had happily accepted on her behalf, so she had no choice.

He had already taken her on the grand tour. And wouldn't you know it, even his _house_ was extremely dull! There were no decorations anywhere beyond some drab black curtains and plain brown rugs. Everything was at least neat and tidy, but there wasn't even one piece of excessive furniture, no ornamental embellishments, no chandeliers, no paintings beyond a simple portrait of himself and his family in the study, not even a little bit of color. If it were not for the size of the house, one would never guess that Don Julián was rich.

To make matters worse, he had not only given her a tour of the hacienda, but he actually tried to get her familiar with how things were run around the place and attempted to get her acquainted with every single servant, ranch hand, and any other person who might possibly work or pass through there. It was as if they were already married and he was familiarizing her with her new home. He already expected her to see herself as the lady of the house. Imelda shuddered at the thought. She still could not picture herself married to such a man. She had never considered herself particularly lively or upbeat− at least no more than the next person− but next to Don Julián, she felt like the life of the party.

Now, Imelda sat in the garden, waiting for Don Julián to return. He had instructed her to sit and wait for him while he went back inside because he had a surprise. Imelda was a little apprehensive about what it could be. She sat, wringing her hands in her lap.

" _¡Mi amor!"_ Don Julián's dull voice came from behind her.

Imelda sighed and turned around. She came face to face with Don Julián kneeling on the ground, but was taken aback by his clothing. He wore a bright blue mariachi outfit complete with a matching oversized sombrero. It was like he was commercializing the outfit; as though he had a vague idea what a mariachi dressed like so he went out and bought what he had pictured. It was so over the top and ridiculous, Imelda had a hard time holding back her laughter. He held a guitar in his hands and positioned it ready to play.

He seemed to take Imelda's bewildered and tight expression as permission to play because that is what he did. And Imelda couldn't believe it. She simply could _not_ believe it! Even his _playing_ was extremely dull! She had hoped that maybe underneath that ridiculous curly mustache and lifeless exterior, he might have a passionate soul that could be expressed through music... But no. No! He was a big dull dud through and through.

He began to sing and Imelda wanted to fall back and groan in agony from how painful it was. He was by no means _bad_ ; he hit every note, was in the right key, and did everything he was supposed to. It was just... well, _boring_. He put absolutely no life or spirit into the song and it was excruciating.

Imelda remained stoic with her hands folded in her lap and a forced smile plastered across her face. _Why me?_ she thought in agony.

She continued to observe him as he sang on. He barely even swayed while he played, much less bounced with the beat or− heaven forbid− danced. She thought of the children dancing in the plaza earlier that day and how happy they had been to experience the music. Why couldn't Don Julián be like that? Show some enthusiasm and joy! She remembered Héctor singing his song in the plaza as well. _He_ had real passion. Why couldn't Don Julián be like that? Imelda surprised herself with the thought. It truly was a dark day when she was wishing people would be more like Héctor.

But the more she thought about it, it was sort of true. Héctor _did_ have passion, there was no denying it. And he was a very good musician because of it. Imelda pondered this for a moment, partially in an attempt to distract herself from the mind-numbing droning of Don Julián, but also a little because she was slightly curious. Perhaps that was why she and Héctor clashed so much. They were both very passionate people, just in different ways. Imelda was not used to anyone matching her level of fervency and maybe he wasn't either.

" _¡Olé!"_ Don Julián finished with a flourish, or what he tried to make a flourish but ended up sounding like someone had just died.

Imelda attempted to turn her grimace into a smile. "Oh, Don Julián, that was..." She desperately sought out the proper words, "...truly unlike anything I had ever heard before."

Don Julián missed her double meaning and grinned from underneath his mustache, though his eyes still sagged unenthusiastically. He scooted closer to her and took her hand. Imelda took a deep breath. _This ought to be interesting_ , she thought.

"Señorita Imelda," he began dryly, "From the first moment I heard your name, I knew that you were something special."

Imelda raised an eyebrow at this. Her name was not _that_ unique. It said nothing about her and her personality or even her beauty.

"And then when I saw you for the first time, that was when I knew for sure; you were the woman I wanted to share my life with forever."

Imelda swallowed hard. She had been expecting this, but she was still unprepared. He continued in his usual monotone voice, "You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. And I think that your fiery spirit is just what this place needs to maintain it."

Ugh! Imelda could not imagine keeping up her "fiery spirit" in such a place, especially with him as a husband. She would go mad within a week. She did not need some giant hacienda and a rich husband to be happy. She would be perfectly content living as poor as a pauper just as long as her husband loved her back, she could run her home as she pleased, and she felt like she actually had something to _live_ for.

Don Julián did not seem to sense Imelda's distress and began to kiss her hand. "Please, _mi amor_ ," he said, between kisses, "Will you be my wife?"

Imelda stiffened. No, no, no, _no!_ This was terrible! What was she supposed to do? He began to move his kisses up her arm, towards her shoulder and neck. Imelda's eyes widened as he kissed her cheek. He was going for the mouth next!

She quickly pulled herself from his grasp. "Ah, Don Julián," she said gently, trying to cover up her panic with false sweetness, "You are so generous. I do not know what to say."

"Say yes, _mi amor!"_ Don Julián replied.

Imelda laughed nervously, desperately seeking for a logical escape that wasn't too harsh. "It's just that..." She said the first thing that popped into her head. "...I don't know that much about you."

Don Julián looked confused at this. "What's to know? I am rich, I have everything you could possibly want."

 _Debatable. "Sí_ , but what are your likes and dislikes? Where did you grow up? What were your parents like? How did you learn to play the guitar? Do you like animals? Anything!"

Don Julián seemed to ponder this for a moment. Imelda continued, "Your offer is very generous and I am flattered. I know that my mother wishes for this match, but... I cannot accept it."

Don Julián's face dropped. For the first time since Imelda had met him, she saw a hint of real emotion pass over his eyes. "I understand," he said, his voice still dry, "Perhaps with more time?"

Imelda shook her head. "I don't know," she replied, "I won't make any promises."

Don Julián nodded. "I will respect your wishes," he said, dejection _almost_ showing in his drab voice.

Imelda nodded and patted his cheek gratefully. " _Buenas noches_ , Don Julián."

And with that, she turned to go into the hacienda.


	14. A Night in the Cantina

Héctor sat in the corner of the cantina with his guitar and a pocket knife, whittling at the handle of his guitar. When he had first seen the shiny white guitar in the shop window when he was very young, he pointed it out to Ernesto, "That is the most beautiful guitar I have ever seen!" Ernesto had only shrugged in response. "One day I'm going to own that guitar," Héctor had said. "Oh, sure," Ernesto had told him sarcastically, "Do you have any idea how expensive that is?"

Héctor had walked by that window everyday to admire it. He loved the way the sun sparkled on its surface, he thought it made it look like an angel's guitar. Then one day when he was about twelve or thirteen years old, as luck would have it, a contest had arisen: first prize winner took home the white guitar. Ernesto had discouraged Héctor from signing up, "You barely know how to play and you expect to _win?"_ But Héctor was determined.

That was when he wrote his first song, "The World Es Mi Familia". The crowd went wild for him. Much to his and Ernesto's amazement, he actually won first place and got the guitar. Ernesto had been so impressed with Héctor's success and the crowd's response that he decided to join in Héctor's plight to play music.

Now, Héctor carved a mouth into the handle of his guitar. He had always thought the handle looked like a skull's head. Gradually over the years, he had been adding little details to the guitar, painting little designs here and there. Now, he was finally adding onto the handle. He had already added the nose of the skull and was just finishing up the teeth. He brushed the shavings off and looked at his handiwork. Yes, it definitely looked like a skull.

"Barman! Get me a tequila!"

The sound of a woman's voice surprised Héctor and he looked towards the door. To his surprise, he saw Imelda. She looked magnificent, all dressed up in a deep green dress, gold earrings, and her hair perfectly pinned to her head with a large clip. Her face, however, told a story of exhaustion and distress. She approached the bar and plopped down on one of the stools.

The bartender handed her a shot of tequila. She immediately picked it up and swallowed it in one go. "Another."

He complied and poured her another glass. She immediately swallowed it again. "Another."

The bartender raised an eyebrow, but still he poured her another. She repeated this steps two more times. "Another," she said, her head beginning to sag.

"Eh, _señorita_ ," the bartender said, "Maybe you should slow down?"

Imelda scowled at him. "Have a night like me and then you try to slow down," she told him, her speech already starting to sound slurred. "Another!"

The bartender shrugged and poured her another glass. Héctor stood up and walked over to her, slinging his guitar over his back. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

Imelda looked up at him, then she rolled her eyes. "Ugh! You are the last person I need to see right now," she groaned.

" _Gracias_ ," he said perkily, taking a seat.

"Where is Ernesto?" Imelda wondered, drinking her next glass and then shoving it back to the bartender. He hesitated, but then filled it up again at the sight of her death glare.

"Practicing for the show in a couple days," Héctor replied.

Imelda looked sideways at him. "Why aren't you practicing with him?"

"I'm supposed to be writing an original song for the show."

Imelda smirked. "You write songs too?"

Too? ...Oh. Héctor had forgotten that Ernesto had told her that he wrote songs. "Er, yes," he replied, "I write uhh... _most_ of the songs for our performances."

"Hmm," Imelda replied as she swallowed her next glass of tequila, "And how is Ernesto's song coming along for me?"

"I uh..." Héctor had been struggling with writing his songs lately. Something was blocking him. His emotions seemed to be all over the place and he couldn't focus. "He's... working on it."

Imelda snorted drunkenly. "Sure," she said, sounding a little unconvinced. Her tone puzzled Héctor, but he did not address it. She then peered at him, squinting her eyes. She leaned closer and Héctor had to lean back so that she didn't collapse on top of him. "What do you know about love?" she asked.

Héctor was surprised by the question. "Not a whole lot," he admitted, "I love a lot of things: music, my guitar, and Ernesto is like my brother. But if you're talking about romantic love, I can't help you much."

Imelda nodded and leaned back again. She exhaled sharply. "I just got proposed to tonight."

Héctor raised his eyebrows. "From that rich guy you were telling me about?"

Imelda nodded again and then buried her face in her hands. "It was perfectly horrible! He offered me everything, but I just couldn't accept it." She looked over at Héctor once more. "Is there something wrong with me? Am I _that_ difficult to please?"

"No... No, I don't think so," Héctor replied.

Imelda sighed heavily and rested her cheek in her hand. "Maybe you were right before. I really am never satisfied with anything."

Héctor bit his lip regretfully. "Look," he said, "A beautiful girl like yourself with a lot of personality and spunk shouldn't have to settle for just anybody who doesn't make her happy. Like you said, you have your pick of pretty much anybody. You'll find the right person eventually."

Imelda turned to look at him, her face squished unattractively against her hand. "You think so?"

"Sure!"

Imelda smiled. "That's sweet of you to say."

"Hey, just be that charming and caring person that I am sure is buried in there somewhere and you'll be anyone's dream girl."

Imelda put her other hand up on her other cheek, completely squishing her face. "Even yours?" she asked through awkwardly pursed lips.

Héctor was taken aback by the question, but he nodded. "Sure," he replied, "If you stopped insulting me and throwing shoes at me for ten seconds and I got to know the real you, there is the slightest possibility I _might_ find you attractive."

Imelda giggled, her eyes drooping slightly from all the alcohol swirling inside her. "You're funny," she remarked, "And sweet."

"Now I know you're really drunk because you just complimented me," Héctor said with a laugh.

Imelda laughed as well and then sighed. "Would you play something?"

"Play something?"

" _Sí._ I want to hear some music. Some _real_ music." She made a face. "After what I had to endure tonight..."

"You were serenaded, eh?"

Imelda rolled her eyes and scoffed. "If you want to call it that."

Héctor removed his guitar from his shoulder. "How can I resist a lady in need?"

Imelda smiled again. Héctor had never seen her smile so much in one sitting. The tequila really did a number on her. He decided this side of her was not such a bad one.

He began to play a slow, haunting melody. Imelda closed her eyes and swayed to it. Gradually, she began humming along, recognizing the traditional tune he had chosen. Héctor allowed her to do so and continued to play.

After a moment, Imelda was waving her hands to the rhythm, still humming, but much louder. Suddenly, she broke out into full song: " _No dejaré de quererte!"_

Before Héctor knew what was happening, she was standing up and raising her hands above her head dramatically. Everyone in the cantina looked towards the source of the commotion. Héctor decided to simply continue playing, partially out of curiosity of what Imelda would do next and partially because she sounded quite good and he hated to cut it short. She continued with her song:

 _"Me subí al pino más alto, Llorona_

 _A ver si te divisaba_

 _Me subí al pino más alto, Llorona_

 _A ver si te divisaba_

 _Como el pino era tierno, Llorona_

 _Al verme llorar, lloraba_

 _Como el pino era tierno, Llorona_

 _Al verme llorar, lloraba"_

Imelda twirled around the cantina like any natural performer would. She stumbled slightly because of her drunkenness, but for the most part, she executed it flawlessly. She pulled out the large clip that held her hair in place and shook her head so that her long dark hair fell over her shoulders like a dark chocolate waterfall. She shook her head dramatically to the music.

As Héctor played his guitar for a short solo, Imelda jumped up on a table and raised her hands above her head again, tapping her feet to the music. Héctor could hardly believe what he was watching. Imelda, the uptight and temperamental girl he had been associating with all this time was actually letting loose and performing like this.

" _La pena y la que no es pena, Llorona_

 _Todo es pena para mí_

 _La pena y la que no es pena, Llorona_

 _Todo es pena para mí_

 _Ayer lloraba por verte, Llorona_

 _Hoy lloro porque te vi_

 _Ayer lloraba por verte, Llorona_

 _Hoy lloro porque te vi_

 _Ay de mí, Llorona, Llorona_

 _Llorona de azul celeste_

 _Ay de mí, Llorona, Llorona_

 _Llorona de azul celeste."_

Imelda jumped off the table and began making her way back towards Héctor. He was not entirely sure what to do, so he continued to play. She began gesturing to him, but he couldn't figure out what it meant. Stand up? Come here? Breathe deeply? But then he understood. She wanted him to sing. He cleared his throat and complied, joining her in harmony:

 _"Que aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona_

 _No dejaré de quererte_

 _Que aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona_

 _No dejaré de quererte_

 _No dejaré de quererte_

 _No dejaré de quererte!"_

They finished the song just as Imelda reached Héctor's side, she dramatically placed a hand on his cheek for the final note. The entire cantina burst into applause. Héctor stared into Imelda's eyes as she looked up at him, breathing deeply. Suddenly, she began leaning closer. Héctor's eyes widened as her face closed in on his. What was going on? But then she ended up collapsing into his chest, unconscious.


	15. Night Under the Stars

Héctor supported a half-conscious Imelda on his shoulder as they walked towards her home. She was mumbling the words to "La Llorona" with her head sagging and hair hanging in her face. She suddenly gave an unattractive snorting laugh. "What would my suitors think of me now?" she remarked hazily.

Héctor smirked. "I think if they truly loved you like they claim, they'd see right past this drunken exterior to your beautiful soul."

Imelda smiled, her eyes half open. "You... think I have a beautiful soul?"

"I'm still deciding."

Imelda hummed in contentment and then stumbled slightly over nothing. Héctor grabbed onto her. "Do you need me to carry you?"

"Please!" she declared, her speech slurred, "I am perfectly capablllle of walking... on my ownnnn... In fact, I don' even know why you'rrre walking with me in the first placcce."

"Because you're drunk," Héctor stated.

"I'm not _that_ drunk."

"Really? How many fingers am I holding up?" He held up three fingers.

Imelda squinted at them. "Three," she replied after a long moment of contemplation.

"What color is the sky?" Héctor asked.

"Red," Imelda replied flatly without looking up.

Héctor raised an eyebrow at her.

Imelda rolled her eyes. "Of course it'sss blue! I'm not sssso wasted that I can't see colorssss!"

"Actually, it's black right now," Héctor pointed out.

Imelda looked upwards at the inky black sky dotted with glittering stars. She leaned against his chest for support as she continued to look up. "Hmm, so it is," she replied, resting her head on his shoulder. "Beautiful."

They stayed like that for a long while, simply admiring the stars. "I've always wanted to write a song about the stars," Héctor commented.

"Whyyy don' you?" Imelda asked.

Héctor shrugged. "There's a lot of things I want to write a song about. I just haven't got around to doing it. I haven't found the right inspiration, the right tune, or whatever."

"Soundsss like laziness to me," Imelda remarked with a hiccup.

Héctor scoffed. "Have you ever written a song before? It's not so easy."

"No, but I'vvve heard you play and I think... that youuu have way more talent than you'rrrre willinggg to admit... You think you need to go to this placcce... or wait for the right moment to get the perfect songggg... but I think everything you neeeed issss inside you." She jammed her finger into his chest.

Héctor looked at her curiously. "I think you're complimenting me again."

Imelda shrugged. "Ssso what if I am?"

Héctor tilted his head. "I'm just not used to it. The alcohol must be acting up again. Maybe we should get you home before you pass out again."

"No!" Imelda cried, yanking her arm from his grip as he tried to pull her away, "This is the clearest my head has _ever_ been! You are the nicest... mosssst genuine man I have everrrr met." She held out her arms in an exaggerated fashion. "That's allll I've ever been looking forrrr! I've just been so mad at youuu for so long... I never botherrrred to see it."

Héctor furrowed his brow. "Now you're _really_ talking crazy. What about Ernesto?"

Imelda sighed dramatically. "What's Ernesto done f'r me sinccce we met? ...He is fulllll of flow'ry words... but nooo action." She squared her eyes at Héctor. "Is he even writing a song for me?"

"He's uhh... he's working on it," Héctor stated.

"Hmm," Imelda replied, unconvinced.

She pulled away from him and balanced herself. "I'll walk the ressst of the way home myselffff, _muchas gracias!"_

"But Imelda−"

"Donnn't try to follow me! I'll hit you sssso hard with my boot, you'll forget everyyy single chord you know."

Héctor believed her. She held up her skirts and began to stumble forward. Héctor stood back and allowed her to do so. She stuck her nose in the air and marched onward. Héctor watched her until she disappeared from sight then sighed. At least her home was just around the corner. After making up his mind not to follow her, he finally turned to head back into town, his head spinning.


	16. What Happened Last Night

Héctor dully plucked at his guitar. Ernesto vocalized nearby. He would hold a high note and then immediately try a low note. Afterwards, he would smile to himself, satisfied. Héctor barely paid him any attention as he stared at the blank page in his songbook. After last night, he felt that he had to write that song for Imelda and prove to her that Ernesto _did_ care. She seemed convinced that he didn't and for some strange reason seemed to be wavering in _his_ direction. She had practically confessed her feelings for him. Wrong, wrong, _wrong!_ That _never_ happened! The girls always went for Ernesto. Always. He had to set it right and create an amazing song for Ernesto to sing to her. He glared at the blank page in front of him. Why was he so blocked?

Ernesto was suddenly beside him. "Working on the song?"

"If you want to call staring at a blank page and coming up with nothing 'working on the song', then yes I am," Héctor replied glumly.

Ernesto clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll whip something up. You always do."

Héctor sighed. "You have to help me out a little though," he said, "What is something you like Imelda?"

"Imelda?" Ernesto repeated, sounding baffled, "What has she got to do with it?"

Now Héctor was confused. "Everything," he replied, "She's the one the song is for, right?"

Ernesto screwed up his face, trying to figure out what his friend was talking about. Then his eyes suddenly lit up as recalled. "Oh! The love song!" he cried out.

"You mean you forgot?"

"No, of course I didn't," Ernesto replied, "I was just thinking more about the competition in a few days and I assumed you were writing a song for that."

Héctor looked at him suspiciously. Ernesto shrugged innocently. "Of course we will still work on the love song for Imelda," he said reassuringly, "I just thought that since there is no time frame for when her song should be finished, we should worry about the competition first. It takes priority, right?"

Héctor was not buying it. "You _did_ forget."

Ernesto rolled his eyes dramatically. " _¡Ay!_ Fine! I did! But what did you expect? Imelda is a very beautiful and charming girl, but she comes with a lot of expectations and baggage. In order to gain her favor, I have to write her an original song? At first I thought it might be worth it if I had my best man on the job." He gestured to Héctor. "But then I barely tell her that I am interested and already she invites me to meet her mother?" He gave a scornful laugh. "I am sorry, Héctor, but no girl is worth that much effort, no matter how beautiful and sought after she might be."

Héctor shook his head, ashamed for his friend. Imelda had been right all along; he was all talk and no action. Héctor felt something stir inside him at the thought. He was surprised at it. It almost felt like resentment or even anger. How could Ernesto just cast a girl like Imelda aside and forget about her? Put his own needs and desires ahead of her? He was treating her like any other girl he ever associated with; like a princess, showing her "a hell of a time" and then tossing her aside and completely forgetting about her. But the problem here was that Imelda was _not_ like those other girls. She was different, she was special.

Ernesto clapped him on the shoulder again. "Well, good luck with the song, _amigo_ ," he said, "I am going to head back to the cantina for a drink."

Héctor did not respond and allowed Ernesto to leave. He shook his head. Imelda deserved better than that. He looked back at the blank page in his song book. He should write the song for her anyways and give it to Ernesto. She deserved at least that much from him. Some sort of closure.

He tried to picture her face as he plucked at the strings of his guitar. She was quick and upbeat; when he looked at her, he couldn't picture one of those sappy, slow ballads he always heard. He tried a very plucky little tune. Yes, that worked. He tried it again, this time adding on a few more notes. It sounded like her marching towards him to give him a tongue-lashing. He smirked at the picture. Perhaps if he started it with a good riff, it could sound like her anger flaring. He tried it and then added the little melody after it.

Yes, good. He bent over and began writing it down in his songbook. It was right. So what should he write it about exactly?

"Héctor?"

Héctor's concentration was broken by the lady in question. She was standing before him, her arms folded. Her hair was properly tied up again, unlike last night when she had let it fly free. She wore a simple white dress and a stern expression.

"Imelda," he greeted her.

"We need to talk," she said.

Héctor could not imagine what she possibly was going to say. There were so many things it could be. However, he agreed and gestured for her to come closer. She sat beside him and twiddled with her thumbs. Héctor waited patiently for her to speak first.

Finally, she asked, "What happened last night?"

Héctor looked at her curiously. "Don't you remember?"

"Well, I..." she put a hand to her head, "I remember coming to the cantina and drinking a lot of tequila and then..." She paused, rubbing her temples. "I don't know. There's just little flashes of things. It's all sort of a blur really. I do remember that you were there though."

"I was."

"So what happened? I didn't do anything ridiculous, did I?"

"You sang for the cantina," Héctor replied, holding back his wide smile.

Imelda looked shocked, but then she slowly began to nod. "Yessss..." she said, squinting her eyes as she remembered, "You were playing and I started to sing. Then we were _both_ singing."

Héctor nodded. "And you were very good. Everyone loved you."

Imelda held back a smile, but could not completely hide her pleasure. "I do remember," she said slowly. She swung her feet, still biting back her smile. "It was the most alive I had felt in a long time... I had fun."

Héctor gave his guitar a quick strum. "Glad I could help get that stick out of your _trasero_."

Imelda looked momentarily offended, but then softened. "What happened after that?"

"You passed out," Héctor replied, "I managed to wake you up enough to walk home. I walked you most of the way, but then you... insisted on going the rest of the way by yourself."

"And you let me?" Imelda asked, surprised.

"You were _very_ insistent."

Imelda scrunched up her face, trying to remember. "I do remember talking to you on the road... Were we talking about Ernesto?"

"Among other things."

Imelda continued to think and then smirked. "I told you the sky was red."

"Yes you did."

"But it was black."

"Yep."

Imelda smiled fondly at the memory and then screwed up her face, trying to remember more. She began rubbing her head. "Ugh," she groaned.

Héctor patted her arm. "Look, we didn't really talk about anything important," he told her, "Don't worry about it."

Imelda looked up from her hands at him, a small smile playing across her lips. "You were very nice to me last night," she said reaching out and grasping his hand, "You didn't have to be."

Héctor shrugged casually. "How could I resist a lady in need?"

Imelda's small smile grew larger in appreciation. Héctor smiled back at her. He felt his heartbeat suddenly increase as he looked into her eyes. She drove him absolutely crazy! One minute she was shouting things at him, then next she was practically confessing her feelings for him, then she couldn't remember any of it, then she was _thanking_ him. She was a total mystery; and it fascinated him to no end. He gazed deep into her dark brown eyes as though they were the key to unlocking her mind. As he did, he sensed that she was doing the same. He could feel some sort of undefinable energy surging between them as they looked at one another.

"Señor Héctor!"

It was the children running into the plaza. Héctor snapped out of his trance. He suddenly realized that he was still holding Imelda's hand and he quickly released it. He faced the approaching mob of children. "Ah, _niños_ ," he greeted them, "Here for some more music?"

The children cried out their joyous affirmative.

"Do you all know, Señorita Imelda?" Héctor asked, gesturing to the young woman at his side.

The children all chorused their greetings to her. " _Holá_ , Señorita Imelda!"

Héctor leaned forward as though he had a very important secret. The children crowded around him in excitement. "Listen, _niños_ ," he said in a hushed tone, "This pretty lady next to me has an even prettier voice, but she is very shy about it. However, I think if we ask _very_ nicely she might sing for us."

The children all looked to Imelda with big, round, hopeful eyes. Imelda simply looked amused. "¡Oh, _por favor, señorita!"_ all the children shouted gleefully.

Imelda folded her arms and puckered her lips, pretending to think about it. "I don't know, _amigos,"_ she replied, "I _am_ very shy."

" _¡Por favorrrrr!"_ the children cried out loudly, jumping up and down.

"Señorita Imelda, you cannot deny such enthusiasm," Héctor said, grinning at her, "You have to sing for them."

Imelda gave a smile. "Alright," she said, "But only if Señor Héctor plays for me."

Héctor played a riff on his guitar in response and all the children cheered. They ran into position, ready to dance. Imelda stood up and straightened her back, ready to sing. Héctor positioned his guitar. "La Llorona"?" he asked, smiling.

Imelda raised an amused eyebrow at him. " _Sí._ "

Héctor began to play.


	17. Party in the Plaza

"Come, Héctor!" Ernesto pleaded with his friend, "This is our moment to give the people a chance to hear us before the show."

Héctor heaved a sigh. "Ernesto, I just don't feel like going to any party right now. I have to get ready for the competition−"

"Ah! There will be plenty of time for that! We still have two whole days," Ernesto proclaimed, "Come! You need to loosen up a little. Moments like this don't come by everyday. I heard that the group that was supposed to perform tonight came down with a horrible case of small pox and can't perform."

Héctor sat up straight. "Are they alright?"

"Who cares? This is our moment!" Ernesto declared, "And we must seize it!"

Héctor narrowed his eyes at his friend. Ernesto held out his hands in a shrug. "I already volunteered us for half the night. You want me to go alone?"

Héctor groaned. "¡Ah _, bien!"_ he said slightly exasperated, "I will go."

" _¡Excellente!"_ Ernesto cried, grasping Héctor by the shoulders and shaking him happily, "Get dressed! It starts in a half hour."

Soon, the two of them were in the middle of the plaza on the stage, dressed in their best suits, hair combed, and faces washed. Héctor was tuning his guitar off to one side while Ernesto did some stretches. He stood up straight and inhaled deeply.

"We are going to blow them away, _amigo,_ " he declared.

Héctor nodded. He felt a little tense and uneasy. This was not entirely unusual, he often felt a little nervous before a performance, but at the moment it felt like it was dialed up to eleven.

He took a deep breath. He had to shake off these feelings. He began to shake his hands, then his feet, then his head; soon he was shaking his entire body as though he were a dog shaking water off its fur. He stood up and gripped his guitar, looking out over the crowd, feeling a little more determined.

" _Damas y caballeros,_ " an announcer's voice called out over the crowd, "May I present our entertainment for tonight: Ernesto de la Cruz and Héctor Rivera!"

Héctor and Ernesto moved to the center of the stage as the audience applauded. Héctor glanced over at Ernesto who looked fully confident and ready. Héctor straightened up and readied his guitar. Ernesto looked at him expectantly. Héctor took a deep breath, feeling his nerves rising up in his belly again. He closed his eyes and then released the loudest _grito_ he could muster.

Ernesto followed suit, holding his own guitar, and the audience cheered. Héctor began to play.

Everything after that was practically a blur. Héctor had performed several times before, but there was something about the enthusiasm of this crowd that radiated a different energy than he had ever experienced. Ernesto certainly was enjoying it. The louder the crowd cheered, the louder and more fervently Ernesto sang. Soon, the people began dancing and clapping. Héctor was not sure he had ever seen such a response to his music before. Sure, people had applauded and showed pleasure, but never on this level. They were raising their glasses and crying for more.

Before he knew it though, their half-night contract was spent and it was time to pass the mantle to the next musician. Héctor stepped off the stage in a daze, but then he realized that Ernesto had not followed him. He looked back to the stage and saw his friend bowing to the audience again and again.

"Please, _mi amigos!"_ he was saying to them, "I will be back! Come to the music competition tomorrow night and you will see us perform again! With an all _new_ song!"

Héctor panicked at these words as the audience roared their approval. He did not have a song and now the entire town would be expecting one. Ernesto blew a kiss to the audience. " _!Adios! ¡Buenos noches!_ Enjoy the party!"

He finally followed after Héctor. Héctor shook his head at him as he approached. "What?" Ernesto asked.

"How could you tell them we're playing a new song when we have no new material?" Héctor demanded.

Ernesto put an arm around Héctor's shoulders. "Relax," he said in a silky voice, "I believe in you. You'll pull something together."

Héctor was not comforted. He was the one who had to do all the work. What did Ernesto know? He only had to _sing_ the songs. "I've been so busy already working on your love song for Imelda and now you suddenly want another song? You don't even want _this_ song!"

He pulled out his songbook and opened to his latest composition, the love song for Imelda. It was still unfinished. Most of the music was there, but the lyrics were incomplete.

"Héctor..." Ernesto said slowly.

"No! Take your stupid song!" Héctor said. He tore the pages out of the book and shoved them into Ernesto's hands. "Next time you want a song for your own needs, _you_ write it."

Ernesto stammered slightly, but Héctor did not let him get his sentence out. He stuffed his songbook back into his pocket. "I will figure something out for the competition. You enjoy the party."

With that, he left Ernesto standing alone, stunned. Héctor hopped off the stage and began to move his way into the crowd, but found it very stifling, especially after a long night of performing. It was like the entire world was closing in on him. The impending performance, Ernesto's promise, Imelda; it was all contracting in around him and he suddenly felt extremely hot. He hurriedly removed his jacket and set it beside his guitar. He moved back out into the crowd− which was now wrapped up in the next group of musicians− desperately wanting to get out.

"I thought you were very good."

Héctor halted, recognizing the voice. He turned to face Imelda, but was unprepared for how she looked. She wore a large, stunning purple dress with a ruffled off-the-shoulder collar which accentuated her long neck. Purple ribbons were woven intricately into her hair and a large marigold was pinned behind her ear, perfectly complimenting her complexion, making her skin glow. Her eyes were painted to match her dress, and it made them look bigger and brighter. She was smiling at Héctor which only threw him more off balance.

He ran a hand through his scruffy hair which he had attempted to comb back for the night. "I uhh..." he attempted to find his tongue, " _Gracias._ "

"Are you alright?" she asked, sensing his awkwardness and tension, "You look like you might be sick."

"Oh no, I'm fine," Héctor said quickly, "You just... You look amazing."

Imelda smiled and he saw her cheeks color. "I didn't expect to see you here," she remarked.

"Oh you know, Ernesto insisted," Héctor said, "Parties are what he lives for. And he signed us up to play, so I got wrangled into coming too, so..."

"You don't like parties?"

"I didn't say that. But sometimes, there are better things to do. Ernesto sort of feeds off social interaction and big parties like this. Me, on the other hand, I just don't see the appeal of going out _every single_ night when there are so many other things."

"I get it," Imelda agreed, "I'm not a huge partier myself. But they can be fun."

"Oh sure," Héctor agreed.

The musicians began playing a new song; a very upbeat and playful one. The crowd cheered and many couples around them began grabbing each other then swaying and twirling to the music. Héctor cleared his throat and Imelda shifted slightly, clasping her hands together in front of her.

"This is a nice song," Héctor remarked after a moment.

Imelda nodded in response, biting her lip and avoiding his eyes.

Héctor cleared his throat again. "I mean... since everyone is..." He gestured to the dancing couples around them. "Would you want to...?"

Imelda finally looked at him. "Dance?" she asked suspiciously.

Héctor shrugged. "I don't know. It's what you do at a party right? And I'm not dancing, you're not dancing. I just thought we could dance... together."

Imelda squinted her eyes at him for a long moment, but then she broke out into a smile. "I'd be honored."

Héctor had not been expecting that response and stood frozen in surprise for a long moment. Finally, he extended a hand to her and she took it. They properly positioned themselves− his arm around her waist, her arm on his shoulder, their other hands linked− and then they began to spin with the rest of the dancers.

After a moment, Imelda raised her eyebrows at him. "You haven't stepped on my feet yet."

"Were you expecting me to?"

"I don't know. But it's definitely happened to me with other men."

Héctor smiled proudly. "Does that mean I'm a good dancer?"

Imelda scoffed. "Always twisting my words."

"I can see it in your eyes."

"So you're a mind reader?"

"Perhaps."

He waggled his eyebrows and she pursed her lips in an effort not to laugh. He flung her out and she twirled back into his chest. "So, any new suitors come to serenade you lately?" he inquired lightly.

Imelda let out a laugh. "No, not yet."

He released her hand and began to circle her, tapping his feet to the beat of the music. She waved her skirt in circular motions as he did so, also stomping her feet.

"Still waiting for the right person," she remarked.

Héctor took both her hands again. "I'm sure he's coming."

They began to spin in place. Héctor kept his eyes trained on his partner as he began to speed up. As they spun faster and faster, Imelda let out a laugh and Héctor joined her. He tightened his grip on her hands and spun faster. They easily could have toppled over at any moment, but they continued to spin anyways. Everything else in the plaza became a blur and they focused on each other. Then the song suddenly ended.

Héctor pulled Imelda to a stop and they both teetered, their heads still spinning. Héctor pulled her into his chest, grasping her shoulders to help steady her. They both laughed heartily and Héctor continued to hold onto her until they came to grips with their surroundings again.

One of the musicians on stage stepped forward. "Now this is a song I wrote for _amor de mi vida_ , my wife, Luana. I dedicate it to her and anyone else in love."

The musician began to play a slow soulful tune and the rest of his group joined in. The dancers around them accepted the mood change and began swaying to the music. Héctor realized that he still had his arms around Imelda just then. He backed off, clearing his throat uneasily. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her once again, all traces of amusement suddenly gone from her face and she stared ahead.

Héctor felt twitchy. He had a strong urge to dance with her again. To just touch her again. He had never felt so exhilarated in his entire life until just a few moments ago. She was the most interesting, beautiful, and crazy woman he had ever come across. It made _him_ feel crazy. It was a completely new feeling... and he didn't want to let it go.

He turned to look at her and found that she was already looking at him. He offered her a shy smile which she returned, equally demure. He extended his hand again. She stared at it as though she could not believe it was actually in front of her, but then she slowly reached out and grasped it with her dainty fingers.

Héctor pulled her towards him and they properly positioned themselves for a dance. This time, Héctor was very aware of how close she was to him and he felt his heart racing. He swallowed hard and took the first step. They stepped right into motion with the other dancers, twirling in time with the music.

Héctor felt like all the rest of the couples disappeared as he focused on Imelda. She was gazing up at him, her eyes round and bright. She wasn't smiling, but her face shone like the sun; she looked contented, as though there was nowhere else she'd rather be. Héctor felt the same.

The music swelled as it reached its end and Héctor and Imelda slowed their step. They kept their eyes on each other's faces as they came to a gradual stop. They barely heard the crowd cheering around them, focused only on each other. Imelda slowly reached up and rested a hand on his chest, then left it there, gazing up at him. The contact sent a buzz through Héctor and his head started to spin like before. He felt the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek. He followed the prompting, but could not bring himself to remove his hand afterwards.

Then, something truly unexpected happened, at least for Héctor. Their faces started to slowly draw closer to each other. It was like they were mutually drawn together by some unseen force. Héctor couldn't stop himself, not that he wanted to anyways. He could feel the pull towards her. It was as though they had been meant to be together from the very start and now they were coming together at last. He saw her eyes close as they drew nearer. They were mere inches apart now. Héctor closed his own eyes, still slowly leaning in. His heart rate was out of control, he could hear it pounding in his ears. He could feel her breath against his lips. So close.

"Imelda!"

Startled by the sudden interruption, Héctor and Imelda both pulled away from each other, stumbling backward. They looked to the source and saw a short, thin man with the most enormous, outrageous mustache and large black sombrero staring at them. Imelda seemed to recognize him because she then greeted him, "Don Julián."


	18. Awkward

Imelda's heart was still racing after what had just occurred. She had almost kissed Héctor Rivera. _She had almost kissed Héctor Rivera!_ But the truly surprising thing was that she really did want to. It had felt so right. He was the first man she had met who's own passion matched her own, who wasn't afraid to be himself, and as an extra bonus, was an excellent musician! She couldn't believe she had not seen it all before. He was her perfect match! Now, Imelda was extremely upset with Don Julián for interrupting them.

"Imelda," Don Julián greeted her in his usual slow, monotone voice, "You look simply divine tonight."

" _Gracias_ ," Imelda replied with a bow of the head.

"I am surprised to see you here."

"Why should you be?" Imelda asked, "I go to parties all the time."

"It just seems like a young woman of your taste and judgement wouldn't be mingling with all the... _common folk_." He threw a pointed look at Héctor when he said this.

Imelda immediately felt defensive not just for the people at the party, but for Héctor in particular. "You're here," she pointed out.

"Well, it is expected of me to at least make an appearance," Don Julián replied, "I do own most of the town. I normally do not care for this sort of thing though."

Imelda gave a half shrug and nodded. She was still a little tense from the unexpected interruption that it took her a moment to realize that the mustachioed man was staring at Héctor, expecting an introduction. Imelda quickly recovered and gestured to the man at her side.

"Oh, Don Julián, this is Héctor Rivera. Héctor, this is Don Julián. He's a... former acquaintance."

Héctor seemed to recognize the situation. He knew whom they were mingling with now. Meanwhile, Don Julián gave a self-important sniff. "Yes, I saw you perform earlier," he said dully, looking Héctor up and down, "I suppose that is how you and Imelda met? She _does_ like her musicians."

Imelda felt herself flush with annoyance and embarrassment at the subtext of his words, but Héctor was unfazed. "No, actually. I was passing her house and asked her for directions," he replied simply.

Don Julián did not look convinced. "Your partner said that you were performing in the music competition tomorrow."

" _Si,_ that is right," Héctor replied.

"So you are just in town for the competition?" Don Julián inquired, stroking at his mustache, "You're leaving after it is finished."

Héctor shrugged. "I don't know. This town has kind of grown on me since I've been here. I might stay a little longer."

Imelda looked at him, surprised, but pleased. Don Julián seemed less pleased. He was not one to wear his emotions on his sleeves− everything he did and said was exactly the same− but now, Imelda could vaguely see a hint of distress and maybe even anger gleaming in his eyes. It troubled her somewhat. He was feeling something so strongly that it actually showed through his boring, emotionless exterior.

Don Julián offered a smile. "I look forward to seeing you around then."

" _Gracias, señor_ ," Héctor responded.

Don Julián turned to Imelda. " _Buenas noches, señorita_." He looked at Héctor again. " _Señor_."

With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. Imelda and Héctor were left standing, feeling uneasy. Héctor turned to Imelda. "Don Julián," he said contemplatively, "Wasn't he the one who proposed to you?"

Imelda nodded. Héctor again looked in the direction that Don Julián had disappeared. "I think that he might still have feelings for you."

Imelda rolled her eyes. "Ugh! So typical of men! They just can't let go."

"I don't think that's particular to only men," Héctor pointed out.

"Whatever! What am I supposed to do with some crazy rich guy who thinks he owns me?" Imelda threw her hands in the air. "I barely even know the man! What does he want with me? Why am I _so_ appealing? With his money, he could have anybody, why has he got to pick on me?"

Héctor was not sure if she actually wanted him to answer. He reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Well... personally, if I thought I had a chance with you and it was suddenly ripped away, I'd be pretty torn up over it too."

Imelda turned to look at him, her eyes wide. "Really?" she asked quietly.

"Honestly, I don't blame the guy," Héctor said, "But I'm sure after some time, he will get over it."

Imelda was still watching Héctor with a soft expression. She finally smiled and took his hand. "It's been a long night," she said, "Would you walk me home?"

Héctor returned the smile, squeezing her hand. "Of course." He released her hand and began to back away. "Just give me a minute to grab my things. I'll be right back."

He disappeared into the crowd. Imelda straightened the ruffles on her collar, waiting for him to return. She would not miss her opportunity this time. There would be no Don Julián at the house to interrupt and her mother would be in bed, fast asleep by now. This was her moment!

She spotted Héctor making his way back towards her, his white guitar slung over his back. She perked up at the sight of him, but then she suddenly noticed that he had a panicked expression on his face. Her excitement dissolved as he reached her side, looking truly upset. Imelda rested a hand on his arm in concern. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"My songbook," he said in distress, "It's gone!"


	19. Lost Book

"You say you left it in your jacket pocket?"

"Yes."

"You are absolutely sure about that?"

"Yes! I remember sticking it there after I yelled at you. Then just before I went into the crowd, I took off my jacket because it was getting pretty hot with all the people around. I left my jacket and guitar by the stage and went into the crowd; that's when I last saw it."

"You're positive it didn't fall out anywhere?"

"Imelda and I looked _everywhere!"_

Ernesto listened attentively to Héctor's story. He knew as well as Héctor that they were lost without that book. Ernesto heaved a great sigh. "Then there is only one logical conclusion, my friend: someone took it."

Héctor shook his head. "But why would someone do that?"

"I don't know. Maybe it was someone in the competition. After hearing us last night, they felt threatened and decided to sabotage us by stealing our songs."

Héctor put a hand to his head. "What are we going to do? The competition is tomorrow night. There is no way I can write an entire song by then."

"We could just perform one of the old ones," Ernesto suggested.

"We already performed all our old ones!" Héctor pointed out, "Last night, we sang almost every single one of the songs I had finished. Definitely the ones we know by heart. We can't repeat ourselves for the competition. Besides, you promised the people..."

"You're saying there were _more_ songs in that book that I didn't know about?" Ernesto wondered, cutting him off.

"I'm saying that I am always working on songs and that I easily could have pulled together something new for the show from one of my unfinished ones," Héctor stated, "But now..."

He let out a defeated sigh and buried his face in his hands. Ernesto was silent for a long time, watching Héctor closely. He finally spoke, "You say that if you had one of your unfinished songs, you could easily put something together for tomorrow night?"

" _Sí_ ," Héctor said, his face still in his hands, "But we don't have any of my unfinished songs."

Ernesto straightened up. "That is where you are wrong, _mi amigo_."

Héctor peeked out from his hands, curious. "What?"

Ernesto pulled a few scraps of crumpled paper from his pocket. "You threw this at me last night, remember?"

Héctor stood up quickly and snatched the papers from Ernesto. Imelda's love song! He looked them over. They were all there! He could not believe it. He had completely forgotten that he had tossed it to Ernesto. But then he shook his head. "No," he said, "This is for Imelda."

Ernesto laughed. "Imelda? Héctor, we are talking about winning our competition now."

"I wrote this song for Imelda," Héctor stated, "It's not meant to be performed."

"Héctor, be reasonable," Ernesto said, stepping forward, "If we don't have a song by tomorrow night, we don't play."

"That doesn't matter. This song is not for the world."

"Why do you care so much? We talked about this; I have moved on from Imelda. I don't need the song anymore. She won't care."

"No," Héctor said firmly.

Ernesto peered at Héctor, shocked and bewildered. However, as he watched Héctor tenderly run his hands over the crumpled papers, understanding passed over him. "Ah, my friend, she's got a hold on you too now, eh?"

"What, no!" Héctor said quickly, setting down the unfinished song.

"You have fallen in love with her!"

"I... I wouldn't say that−"

"This is good news!" Ernesto declared joyfully, "You will be able to write love songs now!" He picked up the unfinished song and shoved it back into Héctor's hands. "Starting with this one. Finish it! Your songs are _meant_ to be heard by the world!"

Héctor looked at the song in his hand. "I will finish it," he said resolutely, "But not for the show."

" _¡Ay_ , Héctor!" Ernesto cried in exasperation, slapping a hand to his forehead, "Then what will we sing for the show?"

Héctor stared at the song in his hands and thought about the woman it was meant for. He thought about her fiery temper, her resolute attitude, her confusing mood changes, her enchanting singing voice, her beautiful face... Then he thought about Ernesto, the people, the promises made. He thought about letting down everyone _and_ himself. Then his mind trailed back to Imelda again.

Héctor sighed, running a hand over the sheet music once more. "We won't sing in the show," he replied, "We'll leave town tomorrow and go find somewhere else to play. A fresh start."


	20. The Love Song

The sun had been set for a couple hours now and Imelda pulled a wrap around herself. Tonight was colder than last night, but perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she was not surrounded by dozens of people and was not energetically dancing. Also she did not have Héctor's arms around her.

Imelda shivered at the thought. It was not a bad shiver, like a chill or an uncomfortable feeling, but the good kind, like when a powerful song is played and the singer hits all the notes just right.

She sighed as Héctor came into her mind. When had he become the center of her world? Didn't he used to be that annoying pest that she hated to even hear talking? The one she constantly threatened to hit with her boot? When did his stupid jokes start to become endearing to her? When did his gangly scruffiness turn into attractiveness? When did he become her perfect man?

Imelda began to braid her long dark hair into two thick plaits on either side of her head, still thinking it all over. Why did things have to go so wrong last night? Stupid Don Julián! Why couldn't he just leave her alone? She already told him no, so why couldn't he accept that and leave her be? And then, Héctor's songbook had to go missing. It wasn't that she didn't understand the urgency of his situation and didn't feel bad for him, but that wasn't to say she wasn't disappointed. She had helped him scour the entire plaza looking for it without success. It wasn't exactly how she had pictured the night panning out. Then, when they had no luck, he ended up leaving her, distraught. Barely a goodbye, much less a kiss or anything.

Imelda harrumphed. If that was the way he felt, a songbook was more important than anything, then maybe she didn't want to be with him after all. If he couldn't at least muster up a decent goodbye... Well! Who needed him anyway?

If he had at least called on her the next day with some sort of an update, let her know that he hadn't _completely_ forgotten about her, she might have let it slide. But all day she waited and she didn't hear a peep. This time Imelda sighed, feeling a little downtrodden. Oh well. Who needed him anyway? At least they never _really_ started anything, so she couldn't actually have her heart broken over it. Right?

"Imelda!"

Imelda tilted her head at the faint call of her name. Had she imagined it?

"Imelda!" it called again. This time it was followed by a tapping.

The tapping had come from one of the nearby windows. Imelda stood up and walked towards it. Someone was outside.

"Imelda! Are you awake?"

Imelda unlatched the wooden shutters and pushed them open. The window was raised off the ground, just above the flower garden. Through the dim light of the window, she spotted someone standing among the Morning Glories, holding a guitar. Even through the darkness, Imelda would recognize that shiny white guitar with the skull handle anywhere.

"Héctor?" she asked.

It was him in all his gangly glory. He tipped his straw hat at her and stepped closer. "Hi..."

Imelda placed her hands on her hips indignantly. "Is that all you've got to say for yourself?"

He looked taken aback. "What?"

"You leave me alone last night without explanation, then don't even bother coming by today, and all you can say is 'hi'?"

Héctor hung his head. "I'm sorry, Imelda."

Imelda crossed her arms. "You should be. I've never pined before and I don't like the feeling."

Héctor looked back up at her, wearing a half smile. "You pined for me?"

Imelda scoffed, pulling her wrap tighter around her shoulders. "Please!"

Héctor took another step closer towards her. "My songbook is still missing," he told her.

Imelda softened a little, biting her lip. "I'm sorry."

Héctor nodded regretfully. "Ernesto and I are leaving town tomorrow to start over. I'm going to rewrite some of my old songs, but mostly, I'm just going to write all new ones."

Imelda felt a pit forming in her stomach at these words. Leave? No! He couldn't! "What about Ernesto? Doesn't he have any songs?"

Héctor twisted his hands together. "Ernesto uh... songwriting isn't really his strong point."

Imelda raised an eyebrow at this. She watched him fidget for a moment; there was more behind that statement that he wasn't quite letting on. And then, she realized, "You write _all_ the songs, don't you?"

Héctor nodded shamefully. "I'm sorry he lied to you."

Imelda pondered over this revelation for a moment. "I guess it makes sense," she finally said, "I don't know why I didn't see it earlier actually. Everything else he does is full of charm and glamor, but he lacks _real_ conviction and hard work that goes into writing a song... _and_ wooing a woman."

Héctor bit his lip. "He's just a little misguided sometimes. He gets blinded by what he wants and doesn't think about the consequences of his actions."

"He's lucky to have you to ground him," Imelda stated.

Héctor shuffled his foot. "Listen," he said, "There was one song left from my collection. Ernesto had it on him when my book was stolen, so it wasn't taken."

Imelda tilted her head curiously. Where was he going with this?

Héctor held up his guitar. "He asked me to write his love song for you, but well..." he positioned his guitar, "I ended up writing it for... myself. Well, for you, but _from_ myself. I didn't write it for myself, obviously. That would be weird. It's for you."

He cut himself off. Imelda could sense him turning red even through the darkness. She couldn't help smiling at the sentiment and at his embarrassment. Smooth, he was not. Charming? A little. Sweet? Definitely.

Héctor cleared his throat and straightened up. "Would you like to hear it?" he asked.

Imelda giggled. "Well, since you came all this way..."

That was all he needed. He readied himself and then winked at her. "This is exactly how you make me feel," he explained, "I've been writing it for some time."

Imelda nodded and waited in anticipation. He looked to the sky for a moment, raised his hand, and then brought his fingers down to the strings in a fast riff. The abruptness surprised Imelda. Normally love songs were smooth and gentle, but Héctor entered into a very plucky and quirky melody. Imelda leaned forward on the window sill, fascinated.

Then he began to sing:

" _What color is the sky?_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _You tell me that it's red_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _Where should I put my shoes?_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _You say put them on your head_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!"_

He riffed his guitar again. Imelda had to smile in amusement as she recalled all those things she had actually said to him. He continued to sing:

 _"You make me_

 _Un poco loco_

 _Un poquititito loco_

 _The way you keep me guessing_

 _I'm nodding and I'm yessing_

 _I'll count it as a blessing_

 _That I'm only_

 _Un poco loco."_

He broke into a guitar solo. He began to dance a little as he did so, his feet tapping to the beat. Imelda joined in and clapped along. He grinned widely at her and then finally began to sing again:

 _"The loco that you make me_

 _It is just un poco crazy_

 _The sense that you're not making_

 _The liberties you're taking_

 _Leaves my cabeza shaking_

 _You are just_

 _Un poco loco!"_

He broke into another short solo, swaying as he did so. He winked at her again. Imelda was practically leaning out the window, captivated.

 _"Un poquititi-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-to loco!"_

He finished the song with a flourish and a grito. He posed in front of her with a hand in the air, breathing heavily. Imelda had never felt so much joy at hearing a song, she was positively elated. She began to clap, her smile stretching from ear to ear. He bowed for her proudly.

Then, overtaken by jubilation and excitement, Imelda climbed up on the windowsill and jumped right out of the window! Héctor watched in surprise as she clambered to her feet, covered in vines and dirt. She then charged towards him.

She leapt at him, flinging her arms around his neck. He managed to catch her, but stumbled over a protruding root and they both fell backwards into the Morning Glories. Imelda began laughing and although caught off guard, Héctor laughed along with her.

Imelda pushed herself up just enough to look at him. He offered her a small, amused smile and brushed some hair that had fallen loose from one of her braids behind her ear. Imelda smiled widely, then leaned forward and planted a huge kiss on his lips. She felt his surprise, but he quickly recovered and was soon kissing her back, wrapping his arms around her small frame. They held each other there, laying amongst the blue Morning Glories, reveling in the moment.

When Imelda finally released him, Héctor looked at her, a dazed expression on his face. She smiled at him again. "That was the most wonderful song," she told him.

"You liked it, eh?" he asked with a quirky smile.

"I _loved_ it!" she declared and she kissed him again.

When they finally pulled back again, Imelda rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. "You cannot leave," she said quietly after a moment.

Héctor did not respond at first. She listened to him breathing and felt his chest rise and fall with every breath. "I cannot perform tomorrow," he stated finally, "We have no songs. Ernesto promised them−"

"Ernesto is full of hot air!" Imelda cried out in annoyance, propping herself up so that she could look into his eyes, "You do not need to perform to prove something."

Héctor rested a hand on her back. "Maybe not. But when a promise is made, I have to follow through. How could I face the people? And Ernesto?"

Imelda sighed and traced one of the buttons on his jacket with her finger. He just _had_ to be so noble! But he didn't have to run himself out of town. That was just being melodramatic. She looked at him. "Use this one. Use 'Poco Loco'," she suggested.

Héctor shook his head. "Oh no. That song was written only for you. I couldn't−"

"And I'm telling you, it is too good to be heard by only me," Imelda said, "The people deserve to hear it too. And if you say you need a song, you've _got_ a song!"

Héctor thought about this for a moment. Then he reached up and put a hand on her cheek. "It's not what I intended for it."

"Ohhh... stop being so sentimental!" Imelda cried, pushing him in the shoulder, "Just play the song! Then you will have something to perform and you won't have to leave town."

Héctor smiled at her. " _Si, senorita!"_ he responded dutifully.

Then he moved his hand from her cheek to the back of her head, pulling her down to his level to kiss her once again.


	21. The Singing Competition

"...and then you come in right here on 'The loco that you make me/ It is just un poco crazy.'"

Ernesto listened to Héctor earnestly, looking over the slightly crumpled papers in Héctor's hand. He was more than thrilled that Héctor had decided to use "Un Poco Loco" in the show that he didn't care that Héctor was doing most of the singing for it. He took the song from Héctor and raised it above his head triumphantly. "We are so going to win this!" he cried out in ecstasy.

The two partners practiced the song all day until they knew it backwards and forwards.

Finally, it was time for the competition.

Always for big performances and competitions, Héctor and Ernesto wore matching outfits. Tonight, they wore red in theme with the love song; red jackets with gold trim, matching pants, a white shirt with a black tie, and black boots. It was all the cheapest they could find, obviously, but Ernesto always said that one day their clothing would be sequined with real diamonds and embroidered with real gold thread. Héctor allowed him to fantasize, but Ernesto was convinced that if they won enough contests and performed in enough places, they would own the world.

Now, they stood backstage, awaiting their turn. The singer in front of them had a very strong voice and it echoed all throughout the plaza. Héctor ran a hand over his guitar. The skull painted onto his handle stared up at him, almost seeming to censure him. What are you doing? it seemed to say, This is a special song. It is not meant to be performed for the world. Héctor looked away from it. The thought still bothered him, but how could he let Ernesto down? He was so set on winning this competition. Winning meant more opportunities, more recognition, perhaps even traveling to the city. Héctor knew that Ernesto had big dreams, even bigger than his own. So how could he deny him that now when they were so close just because he was a sentimental old sap?

The singer on stage finished and the next group stood up. Héctor and Ernesto were next. Ernesto was pacing, doing his usual stretches and vocalizing in order to warm up. Héctor sighed as he watched him.

What was he even doing? Why did he want to stay in Santa Cecilia anyway? He certainly felt no passion for this competition anymore. The only reason he was here was to please Ernesto. Other than that, there was... Imelda. Imelda, the girl whom the song had been written for. She was reason to stay in Santa Cecilia. Héctor drummed on his guitar as he pictured her face. That cross expression she always wore, her dark brown eyes, her small nose, her dainty figure, her dark hair. She was everything.

Ernesto sat beside Héctor. "Are you ready?"

Héctor gave a grunt in response. Ernesto sensed his uneasiness and he nudged him in the shoulder. "Hey, it will be great," he said, "It is a good song. We will definitely win."

He put an arm around Héctor and gestured into the distance as though they were looking at a grand painting. "You said it before, Héctor," Ernesto continued, "If we win tonight, so many opportunities will open up. Imagine: we will finally be recognized. We can leave Santa Cecilia and play in bigger, better places and it's only up, up, up from there. Picture the enormous adoring crowds, diamond sequined clothes, women falling at our feet! We will have it all!"

And Imelda would become a thing of the past. Héctor tensed up at the thought. He shook his head. It sounded perfectly awful. He couldn't do it.

"No, Ernesto," he said.

"What?" Ernesto asked, confused.

"I can't go out there," Héctor responded.

Ernesto put a hand on his shoulder. "My friend, I've seen you get nervous before. You will be fine. Just shake it off like you always do."

"No," Héctor said sternly, "I am really not going out there. I can't go along with this. I won't go out there."

Ernesto looked positively horrified at this revelation. He grasped both of Héctor's shoulders. "No, no, no, mi amigo, you must go out there!" he said urgently, "We will lose everything we've been working for."

"I won't," Héctor replied calmly, "I have found what I've been looking for."

Ernesto did not seem to process this. He released Héctor, stood up, and began to pace. "What, Imelda? Héctor, be reasonable. You would give up everything?" he asked, "And for what? A girl? Please, Héctor! We've been dreaming of this since we were children."

Héctor stood up and narrowed his eyes. "I am doing this for love!" he declared boldly, "If you had ever been in love, you'd understand."

He turned to leave, but then he looked back at Ernesto. "If you still want to perform the song, go ahead. I just won't be joining you."

Then he left Ernesto alone, struck dumb.


	22. Pursuing Dreams

Héctor pushed his way through the crowd. He had to find Imelda! Would she be at the competition or would she still be at home, as she put it, pining. Héctor almost laughed at the thought of her sitting at home crying over him. He just couldn't see it. She was not one to wallow in self pity. Surely, she would be here somewhere. Besides, hadn't she been the one to encourage him to perform in the first place?

He pushed further into the crowd, muttering lots of "excuse me"s and " _perdón_ "s along the way. There was an extremely large turn out, the entire town must have been there. Héctor wondered if Ernesto's announcement at the party had anything to do with it.

As he looked out over the sea of faces, he did not see the one he was looking for. Where was Imelda? How was he going to find her?

He spotted a wooden post not too far off supporting a canopy. Without thinking, he made his way towards it. He grasped the post with both hands and began to shimmy his way up it. He clung to the post with great effort, doing his best not to slide back down while he scanned the crowd.

Then he saw her.

She stood not too far off, her arms folded and her head tilted to one side, staring impatiently at the stage. She was a vision to behold as usual. Héctor called out to her. "Imelda!"

Imelda heard her name and looked around for the source. She spotted him and her face lit up, but then it quickly dropped into confusion. Héctor swelled at the sight of her and jumped down off the post. He began pushing his way through the crowd again, this time a little more fervently until Imelda was within his sights. He rushed forward and took her into his arms, sweeping her off her feet and holding her close to him as he spun her around joyfully.

"Héctor, what are you doing? You're supposed to be performing!" she said as he set her down.

He did not release her, but kept his arms around her waist. "Am I?" he asked, screwing up his face, pretending to think, "I guess I had more important things to do."

She punched him in the shoulder. "You are crazy! This is your dream!"

Héctor pulled her closer. "I guess you just make me _un poco loco_."

Imelda glared at him a little longer, but she could not hold it. She finally broke into a smile and wrapped her arms around his neck. "So what will you do now?"

Héctor shrugged. "I'll figure something out. Do you have any ideas?"

Imelda gave a small chuckle. "Oh, I might have some."

She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly. They paid no mind to the people around them whistling and making small gritos at them. They only wrapped their arms tighter around each other.

What finally broke them apart was the sound of a great, bombastic grito from the stage, followed by a very dramatic riff on the guitar. Then, they recognized the very plucky melody that followed. They looked to the stage and saw Ernesto de la Cruz all alone, holding Héctor's white skull guitar and playing his heart out.

" _What color is the sky?_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _You tell me that it's red_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _Where should I put my shoes?_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _You say put them on your head_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!"_

Imelda looked to Héctor with a questioning gaze. Héctor gave an understanding nod to the stage. Ernesto had decided to pursue his dream. If Héctor could go after his, why shouldn't Ernesto go after his own?

The crowd was going absolutely wild for Ernesto as he broke into the chorus. This filled him with even more energy and he really belted it out, tapping his feet in his own elegant and suave fashion. Héctor put an arm around Imelda's shoulders and they both swayed to the music. Ernesto really was talented, there was no denying, even if he did take their song.

" _Un poquititi-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-to loco!"_

Ernesto wrapped up the song with a final loud grito. The crowd's response was deafening. Ernesto gave an over-the-top flourishing bow, flashing his charming grin. The cheers and applause did not cease even a little bit. He began blowing kisses and− although they went unheard over the noise− he began expressing his appreciation to the crowd.

Héctor smirked and shook his head, but joined in the clapping. Imelda took a moment, but she soon followed suit. Eventually, the host of the event had to take Ernesto off stage despite the fact that the applause had not died down.

" _Damas y caballeros!_ " he shouted above the noise, "We still have a couple more acts to hear! Please, please!"

The crowd still did not cease their cheering. The host shook his head, but smiled. "Perhaps at the end, Señor de la Cruz will give us another song, eh?"

If it were possible to get any louder, the crowd did in response to this.

" _¡Muy bien!_ " the host cried, "On with the show!"


	23. Fraud

Imelda found herself humming "Un Poco Loco" all day the next day. Her mother noticed her good mood and commented on it.

"What has got you so happy?" she asked, "I don't think I've ever seen you so upbeat."

Imelda merely smiled and kissed her on the cheek. Her mother giggled. "Does this mean my grumpy, cynical daughter has finally fled the coop?"

Imelda have a light shrug. "Maybe."

Her mother's eyes lit up. "Has something finally happened with Don Julián?"

Imelda scoffed. "Please, _mamá!_ Do not spoil my mood by bringing _him_ up. I turned him down days ago."

Her mother shook her head in bewilderment. "Well, I cannot chock this fluttering contentment up to anything other than love."

Imelda hummed happily. "You wouldn't be wrong."

Her mother raised her eyebrows. "Really? Then who? That musician I met? What was his name? De la Cruz?"

Imelda let out a fleeting laugh. "No, _mamá!_ He's long been forgotten too. He was just a short infatuation, that was all. Nothing real or serious."

Her mother threw up her arms in defeat. "Well, then I am at a loss. Who has stolen your heart and turned you into this pleasant, lovesick girl?"

Imelda swelled at the thought of the one who had. "Héctor Rivera."

"Héctor who?" her mother repeated. She thought for a moment and then remembered. "Oh, that friend of de la Cruz's, right?" She then furrowed her brow. "I thought you hated him."

Imelda let out a laugh. "No, I don't think I did," she responded, "Sure, he frustrated me, but that's what made him special. He wasn't afraid to challenge me or to point out my flaws, whereas every other man would only ever tell me how magnificent I was and would back away when I got upset."

Her mother crossed her arms, thinking about this. Then she sighed and reached out to take her daughter's hand. "Well, if he makes you happy, I guess I am happy." She smirked. "I should be counting my blessings. I was beginning to think that there wasn't any man out there that could win you over."

Imelda smiled, squeezing her mother's hand. "Me too."

There was suddenly a knock on the door. They both looked towards it, wondering if they had invited anyone over. Imelda's mother released her hand and went to answer it. Imelda stayed where she was, watching curiously.

"Don Julián!" she declared from the doorway, "What a pleasant surprise!"

Imelda could not see the mustachioed man from her present position, but she heard his droning voice.

" _Buenas dias, señora,_ " he drolled monotonously, "Is Imelda here?"

Her mother shot a backwards glance at Imelda. Imelda's eyes widened in confusion. What could he possibly want?

"Um, yes she is," her mother replied, sounding a bit wary, but just as curious as her daughter felt. She called backwards into the house as though Imelda were far into it. "Imelda! Someone is here to see you!"

Imelda stepped forward until she appeared in the doorway behind her mother. "Don Julián," she greeted him as pleasantly as possible, "What a surprise."

"Imelda," he responded with a bow, "You are looking as radiant as the sun as always."

Imelda wanted to slap him across the face. Couldn't he just leave her alone?

"I wonder, _señora_ ," he said, turning back to her mother, "If I could just borrow your daughter for a couple of minutes?"

It seemed that he was under the impression that her mother was still on his side. Her mother looked over at Imelda, concern written on her face. Did she want to go with this man?

Imelda straightened herself up in determination. She would go. She would go and tell him off once and for all. She gave her mother a reassuring nod. It would be alright.

"Of course, Don Julián," her mother replied, "Take all the time you need."

He bowed his head gratefully and extended his hand to Imelda. Imelda held back a sigh and took it. His hand were not so warm and inviting as Héctor's. Sure, Don Julián's were softer, but that was because he probably never worked a day in his life. Héctor's fingers were covered in callouses from playing his guitar all day; Imelda would not have it any other way.

Don Julián led her to the flower garden. Imelda had to roll her eyes at the location he had chosen. Couldn't he be more original? Sure, this was where Héctor had professed himself to her as well, but it was only because her room was right next to it. He was more interested in her and not the setting.

Finally, he stopped and turned to her, still holding her hand. "Señorita Imelda," he said even more slowly than usual, "I realize that since I last professed myself to you, we have not spent a lot of time together as you wished."

 _I'm not so sure that I said that_ , Imelda thought, _Pretty sure I said that if I was going to marry someone, I wanted to know more about them._

"But, after our separation, I learned something about you that I think might help our present situation."

Imelda could not imagine what it could be.

"Every time you have rejected a suitor in the past, you have told them to write an original song," Don Julián stated, "You gave me no such task when you turned me down."

" _Sí_ , well it wasn't just your singing that−" Imelda began, but Don Julián cut her off.

" _Por favor,_ " he pleaded without even a hint of passion in his voice, "Allow me to try one more time. I love you so very much. It tears at my soul that you have rejected me."

Imelda internally groaned as he moved over to one of the marigold bushes. To her surprise, he pulled a guitar out from under the bush. "Let me sing you a song I wrote? It is the first time I have composed something. And it is just for you!"

Imelda took a deep breath, attempting to keep her emotions under control. _Listen to the song. At least give him that courtesy since he went through all the trouble... Even though it will be excruciating_ , she thought, _Then send him packing._

She gave him a nod. He positioned his guitar with as much excitement that he was capable of− which was hardly any− then he let out an enthusiastic riff which shocked Imelda. It did not suit his demeanor at all. And he began to sing in his dry voice:

 _"Señoras y señores, buenas tardes, buenas noches_

 _Buenas tardes, buenas noches, señoritas y señores_

 _To be here with you tonight_

 _Brings me joy que allegria_

 _For this music is my language_

 _And the world es mi familia_

 _For this music is my language_

 _And the world es mi familia_

 _For this music is my language_

 _And the world es mi familia!"_

Imelda stared at him completely dumbfounded. She knew that song! Ernesto had sung it to her when he had tried to woo her many days ago. He told her it was an original piece. But how could it be original if Don Julián was singing it now? Perhaps they were both liars and it was some lesser-known traditional piece. Or... Imelda started with realization. It _was_ an original piece. Ernesto was no songwriter, but _Héctor_ was. Ernesto had used Héctor's song to woo her. But that meant Don Julián was using Héctor's song now. Imelda knew how Ernesto had access to those songs, but how did Don Julián? There was only one logical conclusion.

Imelda squinted her eyes at the black-clad man in front of her. "What a marvelous song," she declared. He managed to look somewhat pleased. She continued, "It had such interesting lyrics. What was your inspiration?"

"Well, it's just... music speaks to my heart," Don Julián explained, "It is my language."

"Really?" Imelda said, "And I suppose the world is your family too?"

" _Sí._ "

"Hmm," Imelda hummed. Then she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "I seem to recall you saying something about how you hated the world. How you hated mingling with "the common folk.""

"Oh no, you misunderstood me," Don Julián said quickly, "I was trying to see how _you_ felt about the world. Because I love it so much, I was seeing if you did too."

"Ohhh, I see," Imelda replied, completely unconvinced.

She stepped closer. "Why did you think that was the right song to serenade me with?"

He shrugged. "It spoke to me, so I thought it would speak to you as well." He perked up slightly. "We are such kindred spirits. You must see that we are meant to be."

"You are right, it _did_ speak to me," Imelda said, taking another step closer, "It was one of the best songs I have ever heard."

She was standing so close to him now. She reached out and stroked his mustache. "I wonder," she said softly, "Could I see the music?"

"I..." he said hesitantly, "It's private."

"But it was so beautiful and real," she said, moving right up against him, "If it came from your heart, I need to see it. I will be able to read your soul and then..." She moved her mouth right next to his ear. "...I might be able to marry you."

She felt him shiver against her. She could see the conflict in his eyes. But she knew she had him. He finally reached up and pulled something from his pocket: a red booklet. Imelda eyed it eagerly as he opened it away from her and began flipping through its pages.

"Your songbook?" she inquired.

He nodded.

"You have a lot of songs," Imelda remarked, "I didn't realize you wrote so much."

"Yes, well... Music speaks to me."

"I thought you said the song you just sang was your first song?"

Don Julián looked at her, fear actually showing in his eyes. He began to stutter. "I-I− that is− I meant, it was the first one I wrote for _you!"_

"Ohhhh, is _that_ it?" Imelda asked, putting her hands on her hips.

She had had enough of his lies. She snatched the red booklet from his hands and stepped away from him, flipping open to one of the songs. "Ah-ha!" she declared triumphantly, "'Composed by Héctor Rivera!'"

Don Julián tried to grab it back. "He has helped me compose some of them," he insisted, "You've heard him. He's very good."

"Oh? _Helping_ you?" Imelda scoffed. She began flipping through the rest of the pages, holding the book out of his reach, "Composed by Héctor Rivera, composed by Héctor Rivera, again, and again, and again. Hmm, it sure looks like he wrote most of these."

"So he helped me with a lot of them!" Don Julián insisted, still trying to grab it back.

Imelda finally opened to the front cover. "Property of Héctor Rivera," she read scrawled at the top, "Ah-ha! I knew it! You stole this from him! None of these are your songs!"

Imelda reached down, and in one swift motion, yanked off her shoe and slammed it into Don Julián's head before he had time to react. He cried out in pain, clutching at the spot. Imelda glared at him, holding up the songbook and her boot aggressively. "What have you got to say for yourself now?"

Unexpectedly, Don Julián's face contorted. Imelda had never seen it change beyond a small smile. Suddenly, it was scowling at her. She did not know how to react to this new development. Don Julián was showing _feeling?_

"I offered you everything and you still rejected me," he stated, his voice quivering, "You went for this lowly musician! I couldn't figure it out. What did he have to offer that I couldn't give you? I thought about it for a while and I realized it must be his music, so I took it away from him. I thought if he had no music and then I played just like him, you might love me instead."

Imelda could not believe the ignorance she was hearing. "Don Julián," she said, shaking her head, "I love Héctor for more than just his music. Even if his hands were broken off and he could never play again, I would still love him. I rejected you because you are not the right person for me."

Don Julián considered her words. "You _love_ him?"

Imelda nodded. "Possibly more than you love me."

Don Julián looked like his mind had exploded. "I... I never thought... I never considered that you might..." He hung his head. "I didn't recognize that I was chasing a lost cause."

He looked up at her, his eyes shining. " _Me disculpo_ ," he said mournfully, "I suppose I got carried away in my emotions."

Imelda raised her eyebrows. Who would have thought that Don Julián would get carried away in his emotions? If someone had told her a few days ago that he would have an emotional breakdown like this, going to such lengths as to stealing someone else's songs because of his great passion, she would have laughed in their face. But now...

"There is somebody out there better for you than me," Imelda said as gently as she could, "I myself thought that I would either have to settle or die alone, but then I met Héctor and now I know that there is someone for everybody. Don't give up hope. I am not your _un amor verdadero_."

Don Julián nodded sadly. " _Sí,_ " he replied, "But I will not forget you."

Imelda nodded firmly. "I hope not," she said sternly, pointing her boot at him once again, "I hope you remember what you learned here."

She held the boot there for a moment as Don Julián trembled under her threatening stare. Finally, she lowered it and extended her hand. "Now go out there and find your own _amor verdadero_."

Don Julián stared at her hand in shock, then he bit his lip as though he were holding back a smile. He took her hand and kissed it. Then he picked up his guitar and turned to leave. " _¡Adios, señorita!_ " he called over his shoulder. And then he left.


	24. Reunion

_The final chapter! Thank you so much for reading and following this story, everyone! I'm glad you all enjoyed it! I had fun writing it._

* * *

Imelda entered the cantina, clutching the red songbook tightly. She did not see Héctor anywhere. That morning she had stopped by the inn and had been told that his and Ernesto's room was now vacant; they had checked out that morning. Trying not to panic, she then went to the plaza and the market to see if he might be there, but he was nowhere to be found. Now that she did not see him here in the cantina, the last place she could think to look for him, a sense of dread rose up in the back of her mind. What if he had changed his mind and left? What if Ernesto's success last night had enticed him and he decided that he wanted to pursue his music after all?

Imelda shook her head, pushing back those awful thoughts. No, he had given up his big performance for her. He had told her that he had "more important things to do" than play music. He would not just take it all back and leave especially without saying anything to her... Would he?

He had thought of leaving before and starting over. He didn't need his songbook... Maybe he had changed his mind and didn't need her either.

Imelda sighed and approached the bar. "Barman, a tequila," she called out.

The bartender turned around, holding a bottle. His eyes brightened at the sight of her. "Hey, La Llorona!" he greeted her.

Imelda rested her chin on her hand, the fuzzy memories of that night in the cantina coming back to her at the mention of the song. "Ah, _sí,_ " she sighed.

"Hey, Felipé! It's La Llorona!" the bartender called to the other end of the bar.

An older man looked over, peering out from under his hat. When he saw Imelda, his complexion brightened and he immediately got up from his seat and approached.

"La Llorona!" he greeted her enthusiastically, he began to dance in place. He called over his shoulder, "Look, it's La Llorona!"

Two more men approached, both grinning widely. One raised his glass to Imelda. "La Llorona! Good to see you!"

Imelda nodded, feeling her cheeks turn red. Was this what it was like to have fans? It felt strange. She didn't know why people sought it out.

But then she realized this might be useful. "Gracias, señores," she said, smiling and then leaning closer to them, "Listen, I am looking for the man I was with the other night. The one playing the guitar."

"Ah, you mean Héctor?" the bartender said, nodding, "He comes in here all the time to play his guitar."

"Have you seen him?" Imelda asked hopefully.

"Sorry, _señorita_. Not today."

Imelda sighed heavily and then leaned on the bar. "Where's that tequila?"

The bartender poured her a glass and handed it to her. She drank it quickly and slammed the cup back on the counter.

"Another?" the bartender seemed to read her mind.

She nodded and he refilled the glass. He handed it back to her. "Everything alright, _señorita?"_

Imelda rolled her eyes. "Oh sure!" she said sarcastically, "I only finally find the man I want to spend the rest of my life with and he is nowhere to be found."

An old man with a small gray mustache scooted closer to her. "He'll probably turn up."

Imelda shook her head. "I went to the inn where he is staying. The clerk said his room is vacant. He's just gone! And without a goodbye."

The men around her looked at her pityingly. Imelda swallowed her second glass and then put a hand to her head despairingly, pushing the glass back toward the bartender. "I've been a fool," she said miserably, "I should have known better than to fall in love with a traveling musician. Fleeting dreamers like that will always end up leaving."

"Oh, _señorita_ ," one of the men said softly, "You are a beautiful woman, there are many men out there who would gladly take you."

Imelda scoffed. "Oh, I _know_ there are! I've seen them all. But I don't want just any man..." she felt her emotions rising. No! Absolutely not! She would not _cry_ over some man! Some _boy!_ Especially one who had wronged her. It was _his_ fault! _His_ loss! Why should she be suffering? But she could not help herself as she spoke the final words of her thought, her voice cracking ever so slightly, "...I want Héctor."

She gulped down her next tequila and angrily shoved it back to the bartender. He refilled it. She picked it up and raised it. "That's it," she said with determination, "After I drink this, I am swearing off men for good. No more drama, no more heartbreak. That's it. Done."

"We will drink with you," the old man with the mustache said.

The bartender nodded and pulled out glasses for everybody. Once they were filled, they all raised them. Imelda spoke, "To no more heartbreak."

They all agreed and put their glasses to their lips to drink away their own sorrows.

"Imelda?"

Imelda froze at the all-too familiar voice. Could it really be? She slowly turned around and came face to face with none other than Héctor himself. He stood with his white guitar slung over his shoulder and a suitcase in his hand. He wore his usual straw hat and the same tattered clothing he had been wearing when she first saw him outside her gate; his travel clothes. He _was_ leaving!

But he had not left yet. Imelda continued to stare at him, hardly believing her eyes. She had been convincing herself that he was already gone and that she would never see him again. She was not sure what to do with him standing in front of her now. She hardly noticed her drinking companions looking back and forth between them, eyes wide and questioning.

Imelda finally stood up and began walking towards him. He still said nothing. As she got closer, her anger flared up again. How could he leave her? Even if he did come by to say goodbye, how _could_ he? Especially after making all those flowery promises the other night? He was just like every other man she met. All words and no action! And here she was thinking he was different. What a fool she had been!

Héctor must have seen her mood change in her expression because he started to back up, holding up his suitcase in front of him like a shield. "Imelda..." he said carefully.

"Where have you been!?" she demanded, "I went to the inn and they said you checked out. Are you leaving!?"

"Imelda, just listen..."

But Imelda would _not_ listen. She was done hearing excuses. She was done being lied to. She bent down, yanked off her shoe, and brought it down towards him in blind anger. He held up his suitcase to block it, but she continued to repeatedly bring it down against the leather in an attempt to hit him.

"How could you?" she cried, "After everything? You're just going to leave?"

"Imelda!" he cried out desperately, cowering behind his suitcase, "Everything I said was true!"

"Ha!" Imelda laughed scornfully, "Including giving up traveling for your music?"

"Yes!" Héctor declared, "I am not leaving!"

"Oh?" Imelda let out a cold laugh. "Then what's with the suitcase? Why are you checking out of the inn?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you! If you would just _listen!"_ Héctor cried desperately, "Ernesto is the one who is leaving, but I am staying."

Imelda momentarily stopped beating at his suitcase, confused. "Ernesto?"

Héctor cautiously peeked out from behind his case. "Ernesto is going to try traveling for a little bit on his own. He told me he's going to try writing his own songs. We'll see how that pans out. I don't think that's really his strong point, but we'll see. I am staying in Santa Cecilia though, I'm just not staying at the inn."

Imelda slowly lowered her shoe as he spoke. "What do you mean?"

"I found an old house near the edge of town. It needs some work, but I think we can manage."

Imelda raised her eyebrows. "We?" she repeated.

Héctor nodded. "There's no way I could keep up a house all by myself." Then he smiled. "So I was wondering... Imelda, would you consider marrying me?"

Imelda was floored at his words. She had not been expecting that at all. Her day had taken so many drastic turns, she did not know how to handle this last one. She glanced back at her drinking friends and saw they were all leaning forward in anticipation, completely enthralled with the entire scene. Imelda looked back at Héctor, still speechless. He was watching her patiently, looking hopeful. He really _had_ given up everything for her.

Imelda reached down and put her boot back on her foot. She placed her hands on her hips and looked at Héctor squarely; he was staring at her, clutching his suitcase with both hands, smiling meekly, his eyes round, bright, and optimistic. Why did he have to be so cute and charming? It made it difficult to be angry with him. This day had definitely been a kicker though. She was not going to give him satisfaction so easily after all the turmoil she had gone through in just a couple hours. However, after watching him smile at her with those hopeful eyes, she couldn't hold her stern expression any longer and a smile cracked. "I guess, since you already got the house..." she said slowly.

Héctor grinned. Imelda could no longer hold back and she laughed. They were going to get married! It was all she ever wished for. He rushed forward and she threw her arms around his neck as he swept her off her feet, hugging each other tightly. Everyone in the cantina applauded. Apparently not just Imelda's drinking companions had been watching.

Imelda pulled back enough so that she could give him a kiss. The people in the cantina cheered again. Héctor and Imelda chuckled against each other's lips, but did not pull back.

When they eventually did, Imelda rested her forehead against his. "I have something for you," she said quietly. She took his hand and led him to the bar. She picked up his little red songbook from the counter and presented it to him. He looked at it in shock and carefully took it from her, almost as though he thought it would disappear at any moment.

"Where did you find it?" he asked in awe.

"I found the thief," Imelda replied, "He won't be bothering you anymore. Don't worry."

Héctor accepted this explanation, at least for now. He flipped through the pages, examining each one of them and then smiled, satisfied. He stuck it into his pocket, patting it safely.

One of Imelda's drinking friends rushed forward and wrapped an arm around each of them. " _¡Felicitaciones, amigos!"_ he declared, "How about a song to celebrate? La Llorona maybe?" He winked at Imelda.

The cantina cheered at the idea. Héctor and Imelda looked at each other and shrugged. "An excellent idea," Héctor said, "Only I have a better song..."

He pulled his guitar off his shoulder and properly positioned it. He waggled his eyebrows at Imelda and then let out a wild riff. Imelda brightened, recognizing the plucky, upbeat melody he had written just for her. The rest of the cantina seemed to recognize it as well from Ernesto's performance and began to cheer.

 _"What color is the sky_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _You tell me that it's red_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _Where should I put my shoes_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _You say put them on your head_

 _¡Ay, mi amor! ¡Ay, mi amor!_

 _You make me_

 _Un poco loco_

 _Un poquititito loco_

 _The way you keep me guessing_

 _I'm nodding and I'm yessing_

 _I'll count it as a blessing_

 _That I'm only_

 _Un poco loco!"_

The entire cantina was dancing to the song, whooping and clapping. Imelda and Héctor kept their eyes trained on each other the entire time. As the second verse began, they sang together:

 _"The loco that you make me_

 _It is just un poco crazy_

 _The sense that you're not making_

 _The liberties you're taking_

 _Leaves my cabeza shaking_

 _You are just_

 _Un poco loco!"_

The rest of the cantina began echoing the song in the background. The place could have been its own performance plaza. Imelda put her arms around Héctor as they sang the final notes:

 _"Un poquititi-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-to loco!"_

The cantina burst into applause. Héctor looked down at her, a smile stretching from ear to ear and he wrapped an arm around her. Imelda rested her head under his chin, pulling him closer. This was right. This was all she needed. They made each other "un poco loco" and that was how it should be.


End file.
